


Sunscreen

by turquoisecity



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Flashbacks, I'm Sorry, Jaime/Brienne Appreciation Week 2016, Longing, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:45:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turquoisecity/pseuds/turquoisecity
Summary: After twenty-three years, she is coming to say goodbye.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of this story, you are going to need to imagine that there is, or at least was at some point, a separate language spoken in Dorne. I know that's not canon, and by rights the parts of the story that refer to Dorne should really have been set in Pentos or somewhere, but I have personal reasons for wanting it to be Dorne. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the Dorne plot in Season 5/6 of Game of Thrones. This is way too AU for that.
> 
> Warning: this story features Cersei and J/C quite heavily, but I didn't want to tag it, for reasons.
> 
> I had hoped to get the entire thing posted during JB Week but it has spiralled into something larger, so will continue beyond. But the whole story really belongs on 'Longing' day. I'm sorry.

_‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are now commencing our descent into Sunspear Airport. The local time is 8.47pm, and the ground temperature is a pleasantly warm 22 degrees Celsius. We ask you to remain in your seats, with your seatbelt securely fastened, your tray table in the upright position, and your window blind open, until the aircraft has come to a complete standstill. On behalf of the captain and crew, may I take this opportunity to thank you for flying with Dorne Airways. We hope you enjoyed your flight, and we look forward to welcoming you again in the near future. Thank you for your attention, and we wish you a pleasant evening and a trouble-free onward journey. Goodnight.’_

The flight attendant’s smooth, accented voice clicks off, leaving only the roar of the engines. Brienne sighs and leans back in her seat, trying to stretch out her legs as best she can without tripping up the other crew members as they hurry down the aisle to take up their seats for landing. One of them narrowly misses her foot, and she swings to the left, attempting to wedge her far too long legs into the minuscule space in front of her.

She peers out of the window, her height affording her a vantage point from which to see through the small oval of glass over the heads of her neighbours, a Dornish couple of modest stature. An evening flight at least allows her to avoid the punishing sun until tomorrow morning. Distracted as she was, she had forgotten to buy sunscreen, and the climate always wreaks havoc with her complexion. But at least, this time, she won’t be staying long.

The twinkling lights of Sunspear are rising slowly up to meet them, no pattern discernible, but more numerous perhaps than they had appeared on her last visit. Certainly more so than on her first, as a young college student some twenty-two years ago. She closes her eyes and leans back further into the seat, trying to dispel the sense of doom and yet, still, _still,_ of treacherously joyful anticipation, as the angle of the aircraft shifts and the ground draws nearer. How could she have missed this feeling, misinterpreted it, or simply dismissed it, on each of her previous visits? It thrums through her, her heartbeat almost drowning out the sound of the engines, and she hates it. Dies a little inside.

Because she knows that when she walks out into that arrivals hall, her heart will lurch just as it always does, as it always has, with joy and dread. Joy at the sight of that welcoming pair of eyes and the friendly, dazzling smile which obliterates everything else for her, every time. Dread, of the matching pair beside them – wary, hostile, disdainful, set as always in a mask of frozen politeness – and even of the tiny ones which, on her last visit, peered up at her from where they rested on shoulders or clung to knees, with nothing but curiosity.

Yet it is this combination – joy and dread, some kind of perfect adrenaline storm - which has always, she realises now, carried her through these visits, and allowed her to tell herself that she even enjoyed them. That it wasn’t like torture for her. And brought her back to do it to herself all over again.

This time is different, though. This time, she is coming to say goodbye.

***************************************************

With hindsight, she should have known. But for Brienne, raised by a widowed father and a bitter, spinsterish nanny who’d drummed it into her that there could never be anything for her besides the boyish sports which she had subsequently thrown herself into, her sole exposure to love back then was the romantic historical novels which she devoured from the age of thirteen onwards. It was nothing like what she was to experience.

And yet. The moment has always been burned into her memory without her ever having understood why. A picture without caption, haunting her. If she had understood that it was a beginning, maybe she would have realised that one day it would have to have an end.

The night the scales finally fall from her eyes, she’s drinking wine with Renly in a quiet King’s Landing wine bar in between their respective offices.

She’s invited him out to commiserate with her in the tale of her latest breakup. Renly listens sympathetically, makes all the right noises, rubs her arm and tells her how sorry he is, how he’d really hoped this one was going to work out for her, but she’s a little surprised that he doesn’t seem more… well, surprised. After all, everyone has spent the past six years telling her what a great couple she and Tormund made.

But when she actually thinks about it, on her second or third glass, she realises that truthfully, she’s not that surprised either, and not only because her love life is one lifelong bad joke. Despite everything they’d had in common, something always felt as though it was _missing_ with Tormund.

She voices this thought to Renly, and he gives her a slightly odd look, so she changes the subject and asks how his wedding plans are coming along.

‘Good. Except I’m going to need to tone down some of Loras’s more, shall we say, clichéd ideas, such as a giant, nude-yet-tasteful ice sculpture of the two of us, if I don’t want my brothers to have synchronized seizures,’ he says with a smile.

Brienne laughs. ‘He’s just excited that you guys finally get to do this after all these years.’ Renly grins and rolls his eyes. She takes a sip of her drink. ‘Oh, Jaime can’t make it, by the way. Did he tell you?’

‘Yes, he sent us a nice message. Well, the Jaime version of nice _._ You know. I didn’t really expect him to fly all the way up for it, to be honest. It’s not like he and I were ever _close_ in college, and we both know his _issues_ about setting foot outside of Dorne. I only really invited him because I knew you’d be upset if I didn’t.’ Brienne frowns. Renly regards her for a second and then says tentatively, ‘Will you be bringing a new ‘plus one’, do you think, now that Tormund’s off the scene? Sorry, babe. Too soon?’

‘No, it’s fine,’ she sighs. ‘I’m fine. Really. And no, I’ll just come solo. Story of my life. Loras isn’t going to hate me too much for messing up his seating plan, is he?’

‘Oh, leave Loras to me. We both just want you to be happy, babe, you know that. That’s the only reason I was rooting for you and Tormund, really, because you deserved it after everything. Especially the way that bastard Hyle treated you.’

She snorts in reflex at the mention of the name. ‘You know what Jaime always referred to him as?’

‘What?’

‘Kyle.’

‘I don’t get it.’

‘Think about what Hyle’s last name was, then apply alliteration rules.’

‘Oh.’ Renly chuckles. ‘Lannister, charming as ever.’

Brienne tuts and takes a large swig. ‘Don’t. Are you saying it wasn’t an accurate description?’

‘Well…’ smirks Renly. ‘Do you ever hear from him?’

‘Jaime? Yes of course. We interact on Facebook almost daily. Well, he’s not been very chatty lately, I admit, but I guess he’s probably got a lot more on at work since he made Professor. Did I tell you about that?’

‘Once or twice, yeah,’ Renly murmurs drily. ‘But I meant Hyle, or Kyle.’

‘Oh,’ she says in surprise. ‘No. I thought – no. Never. I wouldn’t give him the time of day if he tried, not that I think he would. It was hardly what you’d call an amicable breakup, was it? He cheated on me, Ren.’

‘I know. Sorry. He was pond slime. That’s why Loras and I were both so pleased when you met Tormund and he seemed like a decent guy who really cared about you. I mean, obviously he was never going to be the great love of your life, but he seemed like the type who might not mind that, you know?’

Brienne frowns hard. ‘What do you mean?’

Renly hesitates. ‘I’m just saying – and please don’t think I’m defending Hyle in any way here, because I’m not – it can’t be easy for any guy to date you, Brienne. Not when they all have such giant shoes to fill.’

‘What _shoes?_ What on earth are you on about?’

He stares at her, slightly bemused. ‘I’m saying, if you want words of one syllable, that no guy wants to feel like he’s always going to be second best because his girlfriend is in love with someone she can never have.’

She almost chokes on her drink. ‘For the love of the Seven, Renly!’ she splutters, blushing. ‘I thought we were way past all this.’

‘All what?’ he asks in confusion.

‘You and me. _Gods._ It’s _ancient_ history, you know that! Sorry if it’s a blow to your ego or something, but I’ve been over you – embarrassingly so, if you must know – since about a week after we broke up, twenty years ago! I couldn’t be happier for you and Loras. Come _on._ Give me some credit!’

Renly blinks at her in complete bewilderment for a moment, then throws back his head and laughs, causing her puzzled frown to deepen, and then sobers up a little and stares at her.

‘Not _me,_ Brienne,’ he says eventually.

***************************************

It was his laugh she had heard first, ringing loud and true across the insane cacophony that was the Freshers’ Fair at Riverrun University one September afternoon. She swung around, scowling, her natural assumption when she heard any laughter in a public place that it was directed at her.

He sat there behind a stall, maybe ten feet away, and for once, she was wrong. The owner of the laugh and his two companions were simply sharing a joke over some papers they were scribbling on, and didn’t seem to have noticed her at all. He was a creature such as she had never set eyes on. A blond god of a man, hair as golden as sunlight flopping messily across his perfect features, dangerously twinkling eyes, and a near-blinding smile amidst golden stubble. His broad shoulders and trim body spoke of immense strength and agility, apparent even beneath his old, shabby but obviously expensive clothing, of the type worn only by those so rich they didn’t care less what anyone thought. He was flanked on either side by a reddish-haired man with pleasantly attractive features, and another, wiry, scruffily-dressed, with dark, slicked-back hair and a wry expression.

With a sinking heart, Brienne realised their stall was the very one she had been seeking on her circuit of the crowded hall. _RIVERRUN U RUGBY CLUB. Try-outs this Sunday!!_ , read the banner. How could the gods be this cruel to her? She brushed down her rugby jersey, smoothed her jeans, ran her hands through her hair, and moved.

The redhead looked up at her approach.

‘Oh,’ he said, surprised, smiling. ‘Hello. How can we help you?’

The dark, beady eyes of the man at the far end flew up, rapidly assessing her, and he nudged the blond with a smirk. Slowly, the third pair of eyes behind the table raised to look her up and down. They were green, stunning, and awash with amusement.

Brienne cleared her throat. ‘Hi.’

The godlike being’s mirth spread from his eyes to his perfectly formed lips. ‘Are you some kind of _girl?’_ he asked incredulously, his mouth twitching into a mocking smile. ‘What do _you_ want?’

Brienne straightened herself up a little and cleared her throat again. ‘I’d like to try out for the team,’ she said, sounding more confident than she felt under the weight of the scornful green gaze.

Red and brown eyebrows shot up, but the golden ones knitted into a frown. ‘We don’t have a women’s rugby team here. If indeed you _are_ a woman. Thanks for your interest though. Bye,’ he said, and turned his attention back to his notes.

‘I know that,’ said Brienne, a little louder. ‘I actually want to try out for the men’s team. Please. If that’s okay.’

The dark-haired man was now grinning. The blond god looked up again, slowly, with a bored expression.

‘Yeah…. No,’ he said. ‘Don’t be fucking stupid. Now run along. Men are working here.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Lannister,’ chided his friend in a northern accent. He grinned up at Brienne. ‘You played before, have you?’

‘Yes. Actually I played professionally for Tarth Under 18’s,’ she said, lifting the fabric of her shirt a little to show them the badge embroidered on the striped cotton. The northern man leaned forward to look, managing to combine it with a leer at her breasts. She blushed and stepped backwards.

‘Very nice,’ he said in a sleazy tone. ‘Mixed team?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Men’s. Officially, I mean. But there aren’t that many people on Tarth, you know, so if you’re good enough, you’ll get in. I was their star player, two seasons running.’

The blond let out a snort. ‘Has it occurred to you they probably just wanted to get into your pants? Or, well, maybe not, on second thoughts,’ he corrected, looking her over once more. ‘Anyway, point is, you’re not in Tarth any more, sweetling. This is serious college rugby, and nobody is going to take _us_ seriously if we have a _girl_ on our team, albeit one who’s built like a brick shithouse. So I say, no. No girls. And since I’m the captain, what I say goes, so…’

‘Ooh-hoo, you don’t wanna let the feminist army hear you say that!’ laughed the northerner, jerking his head over his shoulder to where a terrifying-looking woman covered in tattoos and piercings was holding court underneath a banner emblazoned with the words _Riverrun Wimmin’s Solidarity_. ‘Asha Fucking No-Joy’d take your fucking posh balls and use them as stress toys, but she’d cut ‘em off first, so it wouldn’t even be fun.’

‘At least mine aren’t dried up from over-use,’ retorted the blond.

‘No, because you never fucking use them, Mr fucking Pure-and-faithful-as-a-fuckin-septa! I swear, it’s a crime against humanity, your face matched with your cock. Tell you what, you lend me your face next time I’m out on the pull, and I’ll lend you my’ –

‘Guys!’ interjected the redhead, noticing Brienne’s blushing expression. ‘Give it a rest, for the love of the Seven.’ He turned to Brienne. ‘Sorry. Don’t mind them. What’s your name?’

‘Brienne. Brienne Tarth.’

He held out his hand. ‘I’m Addam. The asshole in the middle here is Jaime.’

‘And I’m Bronn,’ put in the third man, also shaking her hand. Jaime didn’t proffer his. ‘So,’ Bronn continued, ‘what position did you play?’

‘Prop forward,’ she said, raising her chin defiantly.

 _‘Prop forward??!’_ squeaked Jaime. ‘You’re telling me that a pro junior team gave one of its _prime positions_ to a’ –

‘I think if you say “girl” again, she might punch you,’ observed Bronn with a smirk. ‘Come on, you can clearly see she’s built for it. Were you any good?’ he asked Brienne.

‘Like I said, I was their star player.’

‘Who else was on the team?’ snorted Jaime. ‘Thirteen kindergarteners and a goat? Did you ever win a game?’

‘Actually we won the Stormlands junior league three years in a row. You can look it up.’

‘I think you should give her a try-out, Jaime,’ said Addam. ‘It sounds like she’d be a great asset to the side.’

‘No,’ said Jaime petulantly.

Bronn tapped Jaime’s sheaf of notes with an impatient finger. ‘Lannister, use your fucking posh nonce, for once, will ya? How many names have we got on this list so far today?’

‘Enough.’

‘Really?’ Bronn seized the papers and counted down a list with his finger, murmuring under his breath. ‘Fourteen. Even if half of them are any good, we still barely have enough this year to make a full side, plus subs. And gods know we’re desperate for a fucking prop forward since the fucking Clegane sending-down debacle last term. _She’s_ a fucking _ex pro_ , and you’re going to turn her down without even so much as a trial, just because she’s lacking a certain piece of anatomy? Why’s it even an issue? You’ve got a cock but you may as well not have. She may not ‘ave one, but I reckon she’s twice the man you are, ya great poncey golden twat!’

Addam chuckled heartily at this speech. Jaime shot him a murderous glare, grabbed the sheet back out of Bronn’s hand and scowled at it, before finally looking Brienne up and down once again. He drew in a deep breath.

 _‘Fine,’_ he growled eventually. ‘You can have a try-out, okay, Prop Forward? But no promises.’

Brienne was unable to repress her smile of delight, forgetting all about her horsey teeth for a moment.

‘Of course! Thank you! I – I don’t expect any special favours. Not at all. I only want to get in on merit, like everyone else.’

‘Good, because you won’t be getting any. Special favours, that is. I play hard and I play rough. We use rotating teams of five for the try-outs so that I get a proper chance to see everyone play, ideally in multiple positions, though in your case, I think that’s scarcely necessary. We don’t want you trampling anyone to death, now do we?’

‘Unless it’s you,’ put in Bronn. ‘That way, I’d be captain, and we’d all get some fucking peace and quiet.’

‘Shut it, Bronn,’ said Addam. He took the paper and wrote Brienne’s name on it. ‘What’s your room number, Brienne?’

‘Tully B120.’

‘Faculty?’

‘Languages. Classics department.’

Jaime looked sharply up at her with a new glimmer of interest. ‘Seriously? What’s your specialism?’

She found herself blushing again. ‘High Valyrian and Ancient Dornish.’

‘Well, well, well,’ he smirked, a sneer of a smile spreading across his perfect lips. ‘Great minds think alike. I’m the same. Final year. Guess I’ll be seeing you around the department. You’re not exactly easy to miss. Watch out for low archways, won’t you?’

‘Oh, okay,’ murmured Brienne, her heart sinking at the thought of having to spend any more time in his unpleasant but oddly mesmerising presence than was absolutely necessary.

‘Well, thanks very much, Brienne. We’ll see you on Sunday on the field at ten sharp,’ said Addam, holding out his hand to shake hers again with a warm smile.

‘Great. I’ll be there. And thanks again,’ she responded enthusiastically, shooting a grateful look at Bronn too, but not quite able to meet Jaime’s piercing eye.

‘We’re looking forward to it,’ smirked Bronn. ‘In’t that right, pretty boy?!’ he added, squeezing Jaime’s shoulders in a jocular hug.

‘Oh fuck _off!’_ tutted Jaime. ‘Yeah, whatever. Be sure to bring your A-game, Prop Forward.’

*****************************************

‘Who, then?’ she asks, blinking back at Renly. ‘I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about right now. If this is your idea of a joke, then it’s not very’ –

 _‘Jaime,’_ he interrupts in a low voice, suddenly serious. ‘I mean Jaime, Brienne.’

The air in the bar seems to have suddenly diminished, pushed back as though the bar were filling slowly with brackish water, and the voices of the other drinkers, the clink of glasses and the low rumble of traffic outside all retreat, reaching her ears only as distant echoes from above the murky depths beneath which she is slowly sinking. She puts her glass down too hard on the table and the sound jolts her back a little. She swallows, watching Renly’s kind blue eyes watching her. There is a very long pause.

‘I’m not _in love_ with Jaime,’ she whispers, and the words feel like a foreign language.

Renly laughs once more – a short, incredulous bark, before his face falls back into sobriety once again and he gazes at her in disbelief. ‘Oh Brienne,’ he half chuckles. ‘Come on!’

‘What?’ she protests, the sounds of the world starting to rush back. _‘You_ come on! I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous in all my life! Jaime and I are _friends!_ We’ve been friends for over twenty years. We Facebook, we email occasionally, send each other links to stuff we think the other would be interested in. In the old days, he sent me the occasional CD. That’s _it._ I mean, yeah, I’ve visited him a few times, but I haven’t seen him for nine years! He lives in bloody Dorne, and he’s _married_ , with three kids! I – I would never – that’s actually quite an offensive thing to say, Renly, I’m sorry _.’_ She huffs and gulps her drink again, draining the glass, surprised at the vehemence of her own tone.  She can feel her face burning and tears choking at the back of her throat, and thinks she should be too old for this.

To her horror, Renly takes her hand. She tries to pull it away but he grips tighter.

‘Brienne,’ he says softly. She doesn’t move. ‘Brienne,’ he repeats. ‘Look at me.’

She complies, and this time his expression is all compassion, and it makes her blood boil, or destroys her, she’s not sure which.

‘Are we friends?’ he asks softly.

She snorts. ‘Of course. But I resent your implication that I would ever even _consider –_ I mean, _if_ I were – which I’m not – obviously – I wouldn’t’ –

‘Brienne,’ he interrupts again with a sad little smile. ‘Do you have any idea what an everyday conversation with you actually sounds like?’

‘What do you mean?’ she mumbles.

‘Shit. Look, Brienne, _please_ believe me when I tell you that I did _not_ meant to open this can of worms, okay? Honestly, the notion that it might be news to you simply didn’t occur to me. I mean, it’s so damned obvious to everyone else…’ He pauses at her gaping expression, apparently uncertain whether to continue, then takes a resigned breath. ‘Babe, every single person whom you’ve ever met, pretty much, knows within the first five minutes of talking to you that you have a _friend_ called Jaime, that he lives in Dorne, that he’s a language professor, and that he’s written several books and is generally rather awesome, in your opinion. Quite often they also know all about all your rugby exploits together in college too. You talk about him _constantly._ That’s…. well, it’s not _normal,_ Brienne.’

‘I don’t do that,’ she breathes.

‘Um, yeah, actually you do. You’ve mentioned him to me at least three times just since we’ve been sitting here tonight, for no reason at all.’

She opens her mouth. Closes it again. Blinks.

‘Then there’s – are you sure you want to hear this?’

She nods, grim and determined. Renly shifts uncomfortably on his stool.

‘Why do you think none of your relationships ever work out?’ he asks her after a moment’s hesitation, pinning her with a serious look.

She wonders if he’s lost his mind. ‘Um, well, let’s see. You turned out to be gay. Hyle turned out to be a rat. And Tormund – well, Tormund just wasn’t “the one”, I guess,’ she tries lamely.

Renly hesitates again and squeezes her hand.

‘Honey,’ he begins gently. ‘This is going to hurt a little bit. But in view of recent events, I feel like it’s my duty as your friend to point this out, since you don’t seem to be aware of it.’

‘Aware of _what?’_ she grits out.

‘Here’s the thing, okay, Brienne. No-one is _ever_ going to be “the one” for you, until you get past this habit of dating guys who are basically Jaime-Lite, and then being disappointed when they don’t live up to the impossible standards of the real thing in your mind.’

 _‘Jaime-Lite??!’_ she echoes in astonishment.

‘Yep. Think about it. You went for me because we got along well and you found me attractive, but not as attractive as him. Hyle was a lecturer, just like Jaime, had a lot of the same interests, also relatively good-looking, and had a similar style of wit, I seem to recall. Tormund – well, I guess their physiques are similar, and of course you played rugby with him. I’ve also been on enough nights out with you to know that if ever a guy catches your eye in a club or a bar, he’s always tall, blond and handsome. But - none of us are Jaime _,_ Brienne _._ _No-one else will ever be Jaime._ And until you stop searching for him or trying to recreate him in other people, you’re never going to be happy. You’re either going to get bored and push them away, or they’re going to sense, sooner or later, that something’s not quite right, and they’re going to leave.’ He pauses. ‘I’m sorry. I did say it was going to be brutal. Don’t hate me.’

‘I don’t – that’s not’ – she begins, and then trails off. The brackish water is rising again, and this time she fears she might drown. This must be what death feels like. ‘Oh my gods,’ she breathes at last.

Renly winces in sympathy. ‘Are you okay? Can I get you another drink?’

She shakes her head dumbly and then lets it fall into her hands. ‘This is horrific, Renly. I had no idea! You do believe me, don’t you?’

‘Sadly, yes I do,’ he agrees with a rueful chuckle. ‘Though I admit that I assumed, until tonight, that you did, and that you had just come to terms with it.’

‘Come to terms with it?! Come to _terms_ with the blinding revelation that I’ve been hopelessly in love with my _happily married_ best friend for twenty-three sodding years??!’

Renly tilts his head, considering. ‘Hmm, would we use the expression “happily married” to describe Jaime and Cersei? Never really looked that way to me.’

‘Of course they are!’ she barks, feeling suddenly and keenly protective. ‘Why would you say that?’

‘Well… it just always seemed to me that they argued a lot, that’s all,’ he shrugs. ‘I dunno, you know him a lot better than I do, and I only ever met her a few times. I just… got a strange vibe from her, that’s all. Maybe it was just, you know, the whole creepy cousin thing. But even you have to admit that Jaime is _totally_ whipped.’

‘He _loves_ her, Renly.’

Renly does a kind of side-to side nod – a concession, an ‘if you say so’ - but his eyes are still full of concern. Brienne runs her hands through her hair a few times in an effort to compose herself, and slumps back in her chair.

‘What in all the hells am I going to do?’ she groans.

‘Is that a serious question or a rhetorical one?’

‘Serious! This is a nightmare.’

He chews his lip. ‘Well…’ he begins again. ‘I do have a suggestion, but you’re not going to like it.’

‘What? Tell me!’

‘Okay, then let me ask you a very serious question first. Do you really want to find someone else, Brienne? Are you serious about settling down and trying to find happiness, or could the flipside of this epiphany be the discovery that you’re just content to be single?’

Brienne thinks about Jaime and Cersei, then pushes the thought aside and instead thinks about Renly and Loras, bickering over their ice sculpture. ‘No, I want what you and Loras have,’ she admits with a shy smile. ‘I never thought it was for me, but the more I look at you guys, the more I want it. Maybe you’ve just forced me to watch too many rom-coms over the years.’

‘Well in that case, I’m afraid there’s only one thing to be done,’ he says gravely. She looks at him with curiosity. ‘You have to end things with Jaime.’

There is a pause. ‘End things?’ she repeats dully. ‘What things? There are no _things_ to end _._ I rather thought that was the whole gist of this conversation.’

‘Your friendship, Brienne,’ he says softly, staring at her sadly. ‘You have to end your friendship with him. Because if you don’t, there will always be that tiny little voice in your brain which says “What if?” _Hope._ That’s the killer. You have to take away the hope, or you’ll never allow yourself to fully love or commit to another person, and that’s the brutal truth of it.’

She’s been stabbed through the stomach and is bleeding to death. There is no other possible explanation for the level of pain that she experiences at these words. Tears and watery snot escape from her instantly.

‘I – I _can’t!!’_ she exclaims, visceral in her agony.

Renly squeezes her hand tighter than ever. ‘Brienne, Brienne. You _know_ how much I care about you, don’t you? You’re my best friend, okay, and the last thing I want is to see you hurting, sweetie, you _have_ to believe me. But Loras and I worry about you. We really do. Margaery does too. When you got together with Tormund and it seemed to be going well, we thought maybe you’d somehow put this behind you and that it might turn out all right. But now… Brienne, you’re the best girl I know. And you deserve so much better than to waste your life pining after some asshole who’s besotted with his own cousin and has kids with her, and who is never, _ever,_ going to love you back. You _know_ he’s not. You know it rationally, but your heart is never going to catch up, as long as he’s in your life. I promise you. You _need_ to move on, Brienne. And I really believe that the only way you’re going to be able to do that is to cut him out of your life. As soon as possible. It’s not healthy.’

‘There has to be another way,’ she whimpers desperately. ‘It’s not like I ever _see_ him. And it wouldn’t be fair to him. I’m his friend. I can’t just… disappear out of his life without a word of explanation. That would be like I was punishing him for something, when it’s not his fault that I – that I’ –

‘No, no, no, honey, you’re misunderstanding me,’ Renly murmurs. ‘I’m not suggesting you just _ghost_ him. That wouldn’t actually serve the required purpose.’

‘Which is?’

‘For you to get closure. You see, I think part of the reason, at least, why you’re so obsessed with him is that you never got a good old-fashioned rejection.’

She gapes at him. ‘You _are_ kidding me?’

‘No, hear me out. See, I always just assumed you’d chickened out of telling him how you felt, because of Cersei and everything, which would be understandable enough. Now, though, I find out it’s worse than that, because you never even _realised_ your own feelings. Which means, there’s a hell of a lot of unprocessed stuff kicking around in that head of yours, and you need to get it out of your system, actually hear him say, “I’m sorry, Brienne, but I’m just not that into you” or whatever you people say to one another, and get the hell out of there. There’s nothing like spilling long-repressed feelings for putting things into perspective. Take it from someone who’s been through the coming-out process. I guarantee you’ll feel like a new woman.’

‘You mean to tell me,’ she says slowly – ‘you’re _genuinely_ suggesting – that I go to Dorne, ostensibly to visit my oldest and _dearest_ friend, and while I’m there, I somehow casually slip it into conversation that it’s recently come to my attention that he’s actually the great unrequited love of my life, and that I don’t hold it against him, but would he please tell me in clear and concise terms that he doesn’t feel the same way – despite this being a glaringly obvious fact – so that I can get over him, oh and by the way I can’t be friends with him any more just in case it causes me to have a relapse?’

‘Something along those lines, yeah.’

‘But that would be… _mortifying._ For him too, I should think. And he’s _married,_ Ren. I can’t hit on a married man!’

‘These things usually _are_ mortifying, Brienne. That’s kind of par for the course. Sometimes you just have to man up and do it. And you wouldn’t be _hitting_ on him, as such. That implies some intention or hope of a positive outcome, whereas you already know that’s a no-go, so your moral conscience can be clear. You’d just be… exorcising a ghost, and not before time. Think of it like a cleanse.’

It feels more like an evisceration. The prospect of a life without Jaime in it, unimaginable. But then she considers the past two decades, the way he has haunted her dreams – an uncomfortable fact which she has always dismissed as meaningless – her failed relationships, her heart (she now realises) always half elsewhere; the unspoken, unacknowledged, nonsensical hope that one day she might open her front door and see him standing there, and she knows. She needs, finally, to be free.

Twenty-three years is long enough to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We start to find out a little about Brienne's history with Jaime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: you may wish to keep a sick bucket on hand for certain parts of this. If so, please remember, 1) I'm sorry, and 2) you are feeling exactly what Brienne is feeling.

She has always imagined love to be a different feeling. Growing up without guidance, believing great and romantic love to be something which existed only in books and movies, always exaggerated by artistic licence, she simply had no template from which to recognise it, hitting so fast, so unexpectedly, so young, so square and so true. A hook lodged in her gullet.

The loves she has felt since – or what she supposed to be loves – were loves which needed, loves which took, loves which were grateful. She loved because the man loved her – or seemed to, at first – and she believed this to be normal. How could she have understood, at nineteen - and innocent and sheltered for her age - a love which gives, which asks for nothing, which endures without hope of return, which suffers, keeps suffering, and still refuses to die? A love which would forgive anything, would drag her without question or hesitation from the other side of the world if ever she were needed (she never was), a love content to be forever ignored but always constant, indestructible. And yet, unknowingly, she has felt it, lived it, never understanding, for more than half her lifetime.

She understands now. She understands, and the pain is almost too great to bear. The searing agony of having that veil ripped away is like stepping out into blinding sunlight after spending a lifetime in a darkened room.

She sends the email – succinct and revealing nothing - and almost laughs when she realises that Jaime’s surprised _Really? Yes of course! Any time, just let me know when :)_ response makes her forty-plus-year-old heart flutter like a teenaged girl’s, because of course it always has, and it’s so pitiful it’s almost funny, even to her.

She buys the ticket, because maybe Renly’s right, and it _has_ been subconscious, false, irrational hope keeping her going, and only cutting the limb off above the wound will cauterise this horror. Enduring without knowledge was easy. Enduring, now that her eyes are opened, seems impossible.

Maybe Renly is wrong. Every fibre of her soul rebels. The suspicion plagues her that this will achieve nothing, except more pain. That she’s simply a terminal case, and she has no idea what she will do if this fails to cure her. But she can see no other options. She has to try. She’s never been one for quitting.

Instead, she uses the weeks of waiting, and the hours in the air, feverishly mentally cataloguing every moment she can recall, and seeing it, at last, through fresh eyes. It’s like finally reading subtitles on a foreign film whose meaning she had previously only half grasped. After more than two decades, Brienne allows herself, finally, to feel.

 

**********************************

The first visit. The last week of August. The scorching sun hit her as she stepped off the plane, almost twenty-one years old and full of the trepidation of youth. She was on her way to her third-year study placement – not in Sunspear, where Jaime had been, although she’d applied there, of course she had. But it was over-subscribed and she’d been allocated to Salt Shore instead. There was no airport, so she had to fly the relatively short distance from Tarth to Sunspear and then take a train, with an academic year’s worth of luggage. A night’s stopover in the city had somehow escalated into a week. She tried to feel guilty. Just felt worried and thrilled.

Jaime had been graduated for a year, and he and Cersei were living in one room of a tiny apartment which they shared with a man named Oberyn. Jaime had written entertainingly about it in a single, long, rambling letter in High Valyrian which he’d sent to Brienne midway through her second year at Riverrun. She had consumed the letter greedily, relieved to see his handwriting was looking a little better, while cursing her language skills for being forever inferior to his, and taken three or four days constructing a reply in kind – one which she was immensely proud of, and which he never acknowledged. She tried not to mind, and ploughed on with her studies, grateful for her growing closeness to Renly.

She was sweating by the time she had retrieved her two gigantic suitcases from baggage reclaim and dragged them through customs and into the arrivals hall. The Dornish tended towards the small and swarthy, so two golden heads wouldn’t have been difficult to spot in the crowd even if one of them hadn’t towered over everyone except her. And even if they hadn’t been locked together in a passionate makeout session which was grossly inappropriate for such a public location.

Jaime appeared to be fully lost in it, his back turned mostly to Brienne, but Cersei had her eyes open and was scanning the area subtly over his shoulder. Both of them were dressed in foreign-looking clothes which Brienne didn’t recognise – Jaime in a pair of patterned shorts and a linen shirt in burnt umber, Cersei in a clinging red sundress which showed off her figure to perfection – and both seemed to wear them with the kind of languorous discomfort of those who were used to spending more time naked than clothed. For a second, Brienne could have sworn that Cersei clocked her approach, then closed her eyes and leaned further into Jaime, upping the ante by squeezing his ass and grinding a little, causing him to moan lightly, before pulling away and _then_ pretending to notice Brienne, a smug expression on her haughtily beautiful features.

‘Oh,’ she said coolly. ‘Hello. You’re here.’

Jaime turned, and Brienne was sure some passer-by must have punched her in the solar plexus, her brain incapable of processing what her eyes saw. Tanned skin – too much of it, as his shirt was half unbuttoned – dilated pupils, white teeth glinting between swollen, kiss-bitten lips, and tousled, sun-bleached hair which he at least had the good grace to push his fingers through in a half-hearted attempt at propriety.

‘Prop Forward!’ he greeted with a grin, thumping her on the shoulder in a move which could best be described as brotherly, while simultaneously contriving to place Cersei in front of his body, presumably to hide the bulge in his shorts which Brienne was trying desperately not to notice. ‘You made it! Good flight?’ He wrapped his arms around Cersei and leaned his chin on her shoulder, pressing a light kiss to her hair. Cersei brought her hands up to caress his arms. Brienne glanced at their matching wedding rings, their matching faces, and swallowed the lump forming in her throat.

‘Yes thanks,’ she managed. ‘Not too long.’

‘What on _earth_ have you got in there?’ sneered Cersei, eyeing Brienne’s suitcases with amusement. ‘Anyone would think you were going to The Wall. You don’t need many clothes here, you know.’ She glanced up at Jaime with a meaningful smirk, and he must have pinched her because she gave an exaggerated little jump and giggle.

‘It’s, um, mostly books and things,’ Brienne muttered. ‘And, you know, all my stuff for the year.’

Jaime repressed a smile and stepped forward, reaching for one of her cases with his good hand.

‘Give it here then, Prop Forward,’ he said in a businesslike tone as he started to walk. ‘Sorry, I’d take both, only…’

‘No, no, it’s fine,’ said Brienne, feeling a stab of guilt and worry for him as she tugged the other case valiantly along behind her while wrestling her carry-on backpack onto her other shoulder. Cersei made no offer of assistance. ‘How _is_ your hand, Jaime?’

He held it out and flexed a couple of fingers awkwardly, looking at her. ‘Well, I’m never going to play rugby again, if that’s what you mean, but I can do _this_ now. Can’t afford physio any more, obviously, but actually the dry, warm climate helps with the pain. And I swim, and exercise it any way I can.’

‘Mmm, I can vouch for that,’ said Cersei in a suggestive tone, slipping a proprietorial arm around his waist while watching Brienne slyly.

‘Cers, I can’t really pull the case if you do that, love,’ he protested gently, averting his eyes from Brienne’s blushing face. ‘I need my full momentum, and my legs are longer than yours.’

Cersei huffed and removed her arm, shooting the case a dagger look. After a moment’s silence she addressed Brienne.

'I do hope you’re not going to mind sleeping on the couch,’ she said in a tone which implied that she couldn’t care less whether Brienne minded or not. ‘Only it is Oberyn’s apartment, so we’ve just got _our_ bedroom. You know.’

Brienne desperately wanted to ask how long the couch was, and whether it was anywhere near their bedroom, but didn’t dare. Instead she said, ‘Won’t this Oberyn mind my being there?’

‘Nah, he’s hardly ever around,’ said Jaime. ‘He stays at his girlfriend’s most of the time. Don’t know why the fucker can’t just move in with her and let us rent the whole bloody apartment, frankly, but hey. I suppose that’d be too much like commitment for him. He’s always saying “I need my space, _Jaime,_ man”.’ He imitated a Dornish accent, exaggerating the mispronunciation of his own name, and then chuckled. ‘He’s a cunt. A nice cunt, but a cunt nonetheless.’

‘Also, we can’t exactly _afford_ the _whole bloody apartment_ , can we, _sweetling?_ ’ added Cersei sharply, in an icily saccharine voice.

Jaime sighed. ‘For fuck’s sake, Cers. Give it a rest for five bloody minutes. You know I’m trying. Oh yeah’ – he turned to Brienne – ‘slight inconvenience, I’m afraid. Your last night here, I’ve got to go away. I’ve got an interview for a teaching assistant position at Starfall University. It’ll mean an overnight stay, but I can’t miss it. I _really_ need the work, and I’ve been waiting for something like this to come up for a year now. So you’ll just have to stay here with Cers for the last night. She’ll drive you to the station the next day. Sorry. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘No. No, of course not,’ Brienne gulped, although she would possibly have preferred to gouge out her own eyes. ‘You have to go, Jaime. Of course. I understand completely.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Jaime with a frown. ‘I feel like the worst host ever, but…’

Cersei laughed her irritatingly tinkling laugh, kissed him on the cheek and said, ‘Don’t worry. I’d say we can have a girls’ night, but I suppose that’s not really your thing, is it, Brienne? Still, I’m sure we’ll find _something_ to talk about. It’ll be fun! Right, Brienne?’

Brienne smiled weakly and attempted a noise of assent, but she was distracted as they exited the terminal building and rounded a corner into the blinding sunlight of an outdoor parking lot. As one, Jaime and Cersei unclipped sunglasses from their clothing and slipped them over their eyes, their movements so synchronized it looked almost comical. Brienne blinked and staggered after them, desperately trying to shield her eyes with her half-free hand, and feeling her skin starting to crisp almost instantly.

Fortunately, within less than a minute, they arrived at Jaime and Cersei’s car. It was a tiny model in the classic Dornish style, with a soft top and a minuscule back seat. Brienne balked, wondering where her cases were supposed to fit, and whether they intended for her to travel with her feet sticking out of the roof.

Cersei draped herself decoratively against the vehicle, leaning back and stretching her long, delicate, golden throat up towards the sun, while Jaime busied himself with removing a large piece of cardboard which was unfolded across the outside of the front windscreen, wedged under the wipers. Many of the other cars in the parking lot were similarly kitted out.

‘What’s that?’ asked Brienne in curiosity.

‘The car’s sunglasses. Keeps it cooler inside. We’re locals now,’ he replied with what Brienne supposed was a wink, though his eyes were hidden behind his shades. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. You might need to buy some more appropriate gear, though,’ he added thoughtfully, rapidly scanning her attire, which consisted of jeans and a t-shirt with a light sweater tied around her waist.

She saw Cersei smirk without lowering her head.

‘Oh, it’s okay, I’ve got shorts,’ said Brienne.

Jaime paused in his task and looked over his sunglasses, seeming to linger over her jeans. ‘Oh. Well, that’s all right then,’ he grunted after a moment, then pushed his shades back up his nose and resumed folding up the piece of cardboard.

‘Can I do that?’ she asked, noting with concern that he seemed to be struggling with his largely immobile right hand.

‘No, I got it. I do this every day,’ he grinned. He opened the car on the driver’s side and fiddled with the seat, pulling it forward. ‘Cers, honey, can you do the other one, please?’

Cersei sighed deeply, and moved slowly around to the other side of the car, pushing and tugging at the seat with bad grace, until it had moved back as far as it would go. Brienne frowned and shuffled awkwardly from one foot to the other, wanting to help but unsure what they were doing. When at last they seemed to have arranged the car to their satisfaction, Jaime stepped back and indicated with a flourish that Brienne should get into the front passenger seat.

‘My lady,’ he said with a smile.

‘Oh, I, um’ – she began dubiously, peering into the small vehicle.

‘Cers is driving,’ explained Jaime. ‘Hence the seat pulled up right underneath the fucking steering wheel, because she’s got little short diddy legs.’

‘Hey,’ protested Cersei mildly, slapping his arm a little harder than seemed necessary.

‘What? You _have,’_ he chuckled, squeezing her affectionately. ‘We have to move the seat back and forth literally every time we switch drivers. It’s a source of endless entertainment, isn’t it, sweetling?’

‘If you say so,’ she grumbled.

‘Anyway,’ Jaime went on, still laughing, squeezing his wife to him again and bumping her hip, ‘you, Prop Forward, are going in the front, hence the massive legroom-for-a-giant setup, here.’ He gestured flamboyantly. ‘I, meanwhile, am going to be a fucking gentleman for once in my life and ride in the back seat, along with the two small countries which you’ve brought with you. Any questions?’

********************************************

Brienne had been fairly surprised to see her name on the list of substitutes for the rugby squad, following the trials. She had garnered a few curious looks when she walked onto the pitch, but if any of the other men there had had serious issues with her presence, they had either had the good manners to keep it to themselves, or had been silenced as soon as they saw her play. She had given it her all, but despite Jaime’s assurances that he would treat her no differently, it wasn’t hard to spot that he was making her work harder than everyone else, and taking some pleasure in doing so.

He was a joy and an inspiration to watch on the pitch, all lithe movements and lightning reflexes, and with admirable leadership skills to boot, able to coax a good performance out of even the most mediocre player. Even so, despite Brienne having more than risen to all the challenges he set her, it obviously hadn’t been enough to overcome his prejudices sufficiently to make it onto the team proper. It never was with men like him.

Nevertheless, she dutifully turned up for the practices every Wednesday afternoon and Sunday morning. She trained hard and worked on the weaker areas of her game. The first away game of the term was approaching in a few weeks. If it weren’t for Jaime, she would have believed her selection for the side a foregone conclusion, but even the continued support of Bronn and Addam lent her no confidence that he would actually pick her. She didn’t dare speak to him personally. Even on the pitch, flushed and sweaty and covered in mud, he still looked like half a god, and it intimidated her more than she cared to admit. Furthermore, as he had predicted, she saw him from time to time in the corridors of the language department, sometimes with a classmate, usually alone, and he did little more than acknowledge her with a nod or a grunt.

It was her roommate Sansa’s idea to go to the Tully Hall Pub Crawl, about three weeks into the term. Being naturally shy and self-conscious in social settings, Brienne had done her best to avoid most of these excruciating, contrived attempts at forced camaraderie between strangers, but Sansa had pleaded, and Brienne eventually relented out of a sense of loyalty to their burgeoning friendship. By the fourth bar and as many drinks, however, she was definitely regretting it, especially now that Sansa seemed to be engrossed in conversation with the handsome young man who had latched onto them in the previous pub. Guiltily, Brienne found herself slightly aggrieved that her new friend was seemingly happy to get distracted by guys after a few glasses of beer, rather than sticking with her, when it was obvious that she would never be the target of any male attention.

Except for the six feet of gloriously golden male attention which was heading her way right now, dressed in tight jeans and a white button-down shirt which somehow riveted Brienne’s attention. Jaime was lurching towards her, obviously somewhat the worse for alcohol, and for a second she had no idea whether to be horrified, or relieved that she might actually have someone to talk to.

He arrived at her side, grinning and swaying a little.

‘Prop Forward!’ he hollered, by way of greeting. ‘Whatcha doing here?’

Brienne scowled. ‘It’s a Tully Hall pub crawl, for first years. I’m a first year. In Tully Hall. What are _you_ doing here?’

 Jaime shrugged exaggeratedly and took a swig from the beer bottle he was holding.

‘Beats sitting in my room masturbating. Again,’ he said with a vague leer, then laughed when Brienne blushed and pulled a disgusted face. ‘What’s wrong, Prop Forward? Too much information for you?’

‘Stop calling me “Prop Forward”,’ she growled. ‘My name’s Brienne.’

He grinned again. ‘I dunno, “Prop Forward” seems to suit you. Also, it’s appr – appro’– he hiccupped - ‘appropriate. Under the circumstances. Y’know.’

‘What circumstances?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘I mean, what else’m’I gonna call you on the pitch on Saturday? Hmm?’

‘Well, you could call me “Tarth”,’ she began, before what he had said sank in. ‘Wait - you – you mean – I made the team?!’ she blinked, incredulous.

‘Course you did,’ he said expansively, waving his bottle. ‘C’mon. You’ve been running fucking rings around everyone else out there since Week 1, 'cept p’raps me, obviously, _and’_ – he paused dramatically and leaned in, pointing a finger in her face, the beer on his breath causing her to recoil slightly – ‘you know it.’

She scowled again. ‘You’ve been _making_ me run rings. And jump through hoops.’

‘And other circus metaphors,’ he slurred slightly, looking pleased with himself. ‘Yeah. And?’

‘It’s sexist. You promised to treat me equally.’

‘It’s not fucking _sexist._ Give me a break, Prop Forward. If I’ve been making you work harder – and I’m not denying it, mind – it’s because you’re the fucking _best_ player on the field, so you need to be stretched more than the others, plus, I know you can take it. Also testing you a little bit, ‘cause that’s my job. See if you’re up to it. Don’t worry, you passed.’ He smirked. ‘So, you in?’

‘I thought you were worried about people laughing at you for having a _girl_ on your team.’

He guffawed with laughter. ‘Seriously? Did I say that? Okay, I might have said that. Tell you the truth, we might actually stand an outside chance of winning a game this term, with you on board. It’s not _you_ I’m worried about. It’s more likely to be the rest of the pricks who are going to make me a laughing stock. But who gives a fuck? Eh?! As Bronn would say, they’re all fuckers who know fuck all about rugby anyway. Let ‘em laugh! I don’t fucking care.’

Brienne chewed her lip for a moment, caught between relief, annoyance and gratified pride.

‘Well, if you’re sure, then I’d love to play. Not as a sub, though.’

‘Course not.’

‘Okay. Well, um, thank you, um…’ She wanted to use his name, for the first time, out of gratitude, but suddenly found herself inexplicably unable to utter it.

‘Jaime,’ he supplied, raising his bottle as though in a toast. ‘Name’s Jaime.’

‘Jaime,’ she repeated shyly. He was standing a little closer than she would have liked, partly out of necessity so that they could hear one another over the raucous shouts and general hubbub all around them, and partly, she supposed, because alcohol had blurred his sense of personal space. She took a tiny step backwards.

‘I – I thought you weren’t going to pick me,’ she confessed hesitantly. ‘I mean, you hadn’t _said_ anything since the start of term, so…’

‘Ha! Just thought I’d torture you a bit. For fun. Couldn’t make it _too_ easy for you, could I? Worth it, telling you in person, to see your eyes.’

‘What?’ she asked, startled.

‘Your face. The look on your face. Fucking priceless. “You mean I made the _teeeam?”_ ’ he mocked, making his eyes go enormous and batting his surprisingly long, dark golden lashes in supposed imitation of her. ‘You looked like one of those… What are those rodents with the big eyes, that girls go ga-ga over?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said through clenched teeth.

He looked her up and down and smirked. ‘No, guess not.’ He drained his beer with relish and turned to her again. ‘Want another? Drink? Celebrate?’

‘No thanks,’ she said primly. ‘Haven’t you had enough, too?’

‘Think you’re missing the point of a pub crawl, Prop Forward,’ he chortled. ‘Why are you even here?’

‘I told you. It’s for Tully Hall first years to get to know one another.’

He peered around exaggeratedly at the groups of students, all merrily engaged in conversation at varying levels of inebriation, all of them ignoring Brienne.

‘Well, I don’t see any others, do you?’

‘I was with someone,’ she tried lamely, glancing around rather helplessly in search of Sansa, only to discover her in a darkened corner with her tongue apparently down the throat of the young man from earlier.

Jaime followed her gaze and sniggered. ‘Oh dear. Jealous?’

Brienne whipped her head around, too fast. _‘No.’_

‘You _are._ Never mind, eh, Prop Forward.’ She almost jumped a mile when he slung a comradely arm around her shoulders. ‘Tell you what,’ he went on in a magnanimous tone, ‘how about I find you someone else? We could use me as bait, if you want. I don’t mind.’

‘Bait?’

‘Yep. I mean, literally everyone looks at me. So, all we need is a girl who swings _mostly_ your way, but who also wouldn’t say no to a piece of this.’ He indicated himself. ‘She sees me, comes over, we do a two-pronged thing, then when she discovers that I’m a) an asshole and b) not interested, then boom! You move in for the kill. Job done, I go home and wank again, everyone’s happy. Eh? Whaddya say? Now, who do we think might fit the bill? What about the little dark one over there? No, too short for you. Um, the blonde by the bar? Like her?’

Brienne slammed down her glass on the nearest table and shook off his arm in disgust. ‘You are a vile man,’ she hissed. ‘For your information, I’m not gay. And even if I were, if you think I would embark on some kind of perverted… partnership of seduction with you, you’re very much mistaken. If you want to lure vulnerable girls into… encounters, then that’s your affair, I mean, problem,’ she huffed, flustered. ‘And theirs. But don’t get me involved. I’m going home.’ She turned on her heel in the direction of the door.

‘Hey. Hey, wait up!’ he caught up with her in a couple of strides, grabbing her elbow. ‘Don’t run off. Look, sorry. Misunderstanding. Okay? I was seriously trying to help. Sorry.’ He looked so genuinely contrite that Brienne scowled and wriggled her elbow away, but stopped. ‘I don’t… do what you said,’ he went on, more quietly, somewhat sobered up. ‘Not in the slightest. I was actually just bullshitting. A hundred per cent. I’m really sorry. Look, come back and please let me buy you another drink.’

‘Why?’

‘To apologise. And also…’ – he shuffled and looked at his feet - ‘I don’t have anyone else to talk to.’

She peered into his face. How could this luminous being be standing before her, awkwardly craving her company, as it seemed, instead of being surrounded by a crowd of adoring acolytes and willing females?

‘Why not? Why are you here, anyway?’ she repeated her earlier question.

He shrugged. ‘I’m in Tully Hall too.’

‘But you’re a fourth year. Aren’t you? Isn’t that what you said? Fourth years don’t live in halls.’

‘They do if they’re language students who spent their third year in Dorne on a study placement and so didn’t have any opportunity to look for a place to stay or any housemates for the final year. I’ve got one of the larger rooms out in the annex which are usually reserved for grad students. We get a special dispensation. You’ll find this out when it comes to your turn.’

‘Oh.’ She blinked, taking this in. ‘Well, um, I think this is mostly first years, but there must be someone… I mean, if you want _company…’_ She gulped and looked around the bar, slightly panicked.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe the kind of company that tends to find me isn’t the kind of company I want.’

It took her another moment to work out what he might mean by this, before the penny dropped.

 _‘Oh._ Well, um, there are plenty of _men_ in here too _…’_ She cleared her throat. ‘I mean, if I left, then I’m sure you could… you know… instead of… what you said earlier.’ She could feel her face was scarlet and she was unable to meet his eye. A long pause elapsed and she eventually looked up to see him staring at her with a broad smile.

‘Not gay either, Prop Forward.’

Her heart thudded strangely. ‘What about your friends? Bronn, Addam, and the other rugby guys. Where are they tonight?’

‘Girlfriends,’ he said archly. ‘Come on, do you want to have a drink with me or not?’

Again the thudding of her heart. What was happening? Brienne had no idea what a man making a move on her would look like, what he might say. She tried frantically to piece together all of Jaime’s cryptic remarks over the past few minutes.

‘O-okay,’ she heard herself say. ‘Just – just a half, please.’

He nodded, and lurched off in the direction of the bar. Brienne patted ineffectually at her clothing, looked around in vain for Sansa again, and spotted two empty seats at a table over to the side. Keeping an eye on Jaime’s golden head at the bar, she hurried over and sat down, counting on her height and physique to intimidate anyone else who might have had the same idea. Her heart and mind were still racing furiously, incoherently, slightly muddled by alcohol. She had no road map for this. All she could fathom was that if Jaime _was_ , inexplicably, hitting on her, probably out of nothing but loneliness, she thought she might possibly be okay with that. Maybe.

Jaime turned from the bar, looked around. She waved self-consciously, and he teetered back towards her, two drinks perched precariously between his fingers, his face a picture of tipsy concentration. Finally, he sat down and took a thoughtful swig of beer. She sipped her half pint nervously, wondering whether getting drunker than she already felt was a terrible idea or a great one. There was a pause.

‘So,’ Jaime began conversationally at length. ‘High Valyrian, huh? You don’t look like the usual type of nerd we get in the department. What made you pick that?’

‘Oh, well, um,’ she gulped. ‘I’ve always been fascinated by history. That’s what I wanted to study, really – history – but my school guidance teacher convinced me that a language qualification was more marketable.’

‘Not much work in High Valyrian and Old Dornish, unless you’re going to teach it.’

‘No, but it’s a good base for learning other dialects, and I want to work with refugees.’

‘In Essos?’ His eyebrows shot up.

She blushed. ‘No, probably not _in_ Essos itself. My skin can’t handle hot climates. I burn horribly,’ she admitted, the drink emboldening her to push up her sleeve and show him her freckled arm. He looked at it intently, and after a moment she felt goosebumps starting to form, and quickly pulled her sleeve back down, lest he notice. ‘I’ll probably just go and work for a non-profit in King’s Landing, as a translator or something. At least, that’s my plan.’

‘I knew it. You’re a fucking do-gooder, aren’t you?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with wanting to _help_ people,’ she said hotly. He was making her itchy and embarrassed. ‘Why are _you_ studying it, then?’

He shrugged nonchalantly and took a deep drink. ‘I don’t much like work,’ he drawled. ‘Seemed like a doss.’

‘A doss?’ she repeated incredulously. _‘High Valyrian?’_

‘I went to the most pretentious, up-its-own-arse boarding school in the Seven Kingdoms. We had to wear armour on special occasions, and address the masters in High Valyrian. I’m practically bilingual. So yeah, for me, it’s a doss. And I have personal reasons for needing the Dornish. Apart from that, I don’t plan to use any of it for work. Gonna play rugby professionally in Dorne, once I’ve satisfied my father’s conditions, namely getting my degree. Then it’s bye-bye, the rest of Westeros.’ He made a ridiculous whooshing sound and motion with his lips and his hands. ‘Jaime-shaped hole in the wall, the minute I graduate.’

‘Why?’

He swigged his beer again and cocked an eyebrow. ‘Reasons.’ There was another awkward pause while he chewed his lip and considered her, and she felt herself blushing again under his scrutiny. ‘Y’know, you could play pro too. Properly, I mean. You’d be national women’s team level. Better than. You could have quite a career there, Prop Forward.’

She felt her blush deepen. To cover it, she muttered, ‘I told you, my name’s Brienne.’

He grinned. ‘Whatever. You could, though,’ he added seriously.

‘Well,’ she admitted shyly, ‘I won’t deny I’ve thought about it. But there’s always the worry of what to do afterwards. A professional rugby career is hardly a long-term plan. And it might be hard to find work afterwards if I’d been out of the traditional workforce for ten years or so after graduation.’

‘Ah,’ he said knowingly. ‘Work. That thing. Yes, I can see how it might be an issue if you had to worry about that. Fortunately, I don’t.’

‘What are you talking about?’

He smirked at her with what looked like extreme amusement. ‘You’ve never heard of Tywin Lannister?’ She shook her head. ‘LannCorp? The Casterly Group? Permanently in the top five of the Westeros Top 100 companies? As in, probably numbers one and two?’

‘Oh. Vaguely, yes.’

‘Yep. Well, they’re all my father. He’s a billionaire. I’m what’s commonly known as stinking rich. Trust funds, Braavosi investments, the lot.’

‘Oh.’

‘I suppose you’re going to give me a bloody lecture about the idle rich and charitable giving and my privileged lifestyle now, are you?’ he sighed. ‘If so, please save it. I’ve heard it before. I didn’t ask to be born into my family. I pretty much hate all but two of them, and just because you no doubt worked your fingers to the bone down t’pit from the age of three or something, it’s not my fault, okay?’

If Brienne had been less drunk she might have found this speech deeply offensive. Instead, she sniggered. ‘Jaime, I don’t know where you think I’m from. I have the same last name as the island I was born on. What does that tell you? Think about it.’

He frowned for a moment and then light dawned. _‘Ahhh._ Landed gentry, huh?’

‘Descended from, yes,’ she replied with a scowl. ‘And yes, my dad and I still live in the ancestral home, but it’s now a hotel and the roof leaks. Happy?’

‘Kind of,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘So I guess that means the next round’s still on me, then?’

The smile which had inexplicably started to creep across Brienne’s cheeks faded quickly as she saw him start to rise unsteadily to his feet.

‘Oh, um,’ she began, suddenly nervous again. ‘I don’t think, um – I think I’d probably rather go back to the hall, wouldn’t you? Shouldn’t you have a coffee, or something? I could make you one.’

He paused and scratched his stubbled chin, looking around him with slightly unfocussed eyes. ‘I have no idea where we are.’

‘You’re the one who’s been here for three years. I’m the first year, remember? I don’t know how you expect me to know.’ She paused in thought and a vague memory floated back. ‘Wait, wait. I think it’s called… _The Direwolf_?’

‘Oh,’ he exclaimed, brightening. ‘In _that_ case, I know a shortcut back to Tully.’ He reached across and tugged on her hand to make her stand up, his touch jolting her like an electric shock. ‘C’mon, Prop Forward. Follow me.’

‘My name’s _Brienne_ , not “Prop Forward”,’ she grumbled, but allowed herself to be tugged forcefully towards the door.

To her surprise, Jaime actually did know a shortcut, and by the time they were trudging across a field with the lights of Tully Hall up ahead, guiding their path, she could feel the night air sobering her up rapidly. Jaime had fallen uncharacteristically silent, and Brienne’s mind was in turmoil. What on earth was she doing? She was dangerously alone with a man whom she barely knew, one whose looks left her breathless and whose abrasive company she found oddly compelling. Moreover, she may have inadvertently invited him up for ‘coffee’, which even she knew was student code for sex.

By the time they reached the door of her block, and Jaime made no move to part from her but followed her in without hesitation, her heart was walloping in her throat. This wasn’t like her. If this was anything. She had no idea.

She unlocked her room door, checking that Sansa was firmly elsewhere, and ushered Jaime inside with an awkward mumble before making a dash for the kitchen. To calm her nerves, she set about boiling water and retrieving mugs, trying to still the shaking of her hands and marshal her tumultuous thoughts. Finally, she returned to the room, clutching the two mugs.

Jaime was sitting sideways across her bed in the shadows, leaning back against the wall with his long legs dangling over the side, perusing the rugby posters on her wall.

‘Is that Arthur Dayne?’ he asked, peering at one on the far side of the room and then glancing at her for confirmation. When she nodded, he grinned and murmured, ‘Nice. He’s a hero of mine too.’

Brienne was silent. Jaime stared at the coffee cups in her hands.

‘I’m engaged,’ he blurted suddenly.

The sonic boom in her chest must have been relief. ‘Wh – what?’

‘I’m engaged,’ he repeated. ‘To be married. And I’m faithful. Like, a thousand per cent. Just in case you, um – y’know – in case there was any… misunderstanding here.’

‘Oh,’ she breathed, and found herself shaking her head furiously. ‘No. No misunderstanding. Not at all. No. Course not.’

He was watching her carefully. ‘Right. Course not. It’s just… Just thought I should… y’know… say.’

‘Right,’ she repeated, little more than a whisper. There was a long silence. Brienne passed him his coffee. ‘Is… is she here? At Riverrun? Your fiancée?’

A faraway look came over his features. ‘No, unfortunately. She’s in Dorne. I miss her. A lot.’

‘Yes. Yes, I suppose you must.’ There was another awkward pause. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who was engaged before,’ she blurted at last. ‘Anyone my own age, I mean.’

Jaime laughed. ‘Oh Prop Forward, I’m not _your age._ What are you, eighteen?’

‘Nineteen.’

‘Well, I’m almost _twenty-two_ ,’ he said patronisingly, as though this made him an ancient sage. ‘Not that it makes a difference. When you find true love, that’s it, y’know? Doesn’t matter how young or old. There’s no going back. You never know, you might find that out for yourself one day.’

 

******************************

Brienne has never hoped more fervently that he was wrong.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne examines the truth of her feelings as we delve into more of the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late this week, sorry.
> 
> For those readers anxious to see the denouement of the present-day portion of this story, I'm afraid you will have to wait a little longer. We are staying firmly in flashback territory for a few more chapters yet before we reach the climax of the story. I hope it will be worth the wait. Meanwhile, it's crucial to understand what has led up to this moment in Brienne and Jaime's relationship.
> 
> Warning: this chapter contains a scene of threatened sexual assault and abusive language. I have changed the rating to 'M' just to be on the safe side.

Sometimes - because the masochistic appeal of ‘what if’ seems to have temporarily possessed her soul - she wonders. _What if_ Jaime hadn’t told her of his engagement right at the start? _What if_ he hadn’t shut down her embryonic feelings of attraction before they had had a chance to coalesce into something more conscious?

With her other boyfriends ( _her boyfriends_ , she reminds herself, not _other_ ), there had always been a moment. A decision. A turning point, when she had made a conscious choice to give her thoughts free rein, or to allow the man’s pursuit of her to reach a successful conclusion. Accordingly, she trimmed and cultivated her feelings like prize blooms, sculpting them into a shape which she, he, and society would all deem acceptable.

With Jaime, she never had the chance. She had simply slammed down the lid on the darkened box at the beginning, and truly believed that the freshly germinated seed inside had withered and died a quick and painless death, unaware that the roots had taken hold and were feeding gluttonously off every shared moment. Thus unseen, their poison had spread until it had taken over the whole garden, while on the surface a tidy veneer of respectable friendship had concealed the ugly truth from everyone’s view.

Well, perhaps not everyone’s. Perhaps, if she’s really, truly, honest, not even hers, not all the time.

***************************************

After that, he was everywhere.

They won the match, thanks in no small part to Brienne, and he stuck by her side all evening at the celebrations afterwards. A few days later, she was walking back from the college library late one night, and saw him sitting in the campus sports bar with Addam and a dark-haired man whom she didn’t know, apparently at some kind of event. Jaime spotted her through the window and beckoned her in urgently.

It turned out to be a bar quiz, and their team was one short since the fourth member had graduated the previous summer. Jaime practically begged her to join them, and so it was that she spent every Tuesday evening from then on bent in concentration with him over a quiz sheet. Addam answered all the scientific questions, his friend Renly was a whiz at the music and movie trivia, while she and Jaime assumed joint responsibility for everything to do with history, languages and sport. Their knowledge bases overlapped so closely that she occasionally wondered whether they wouldn’t be better having someone different on the team instead of her, who might be able to fill in the occasional blanks in other subject areas, but she couldn’t bring herself to care too much when their fierce competitiveness, within their own team as much as against others, gave her such a high. Addam was also pleasant company, and she found herself blushingly looking forward to seeing the good-looking Renly from week to week. But nothing – except perhaps being on the rugby pitch with Jaime - compared to the thrill of arguing with him over a question or beating him to an answer, then having him high-five her exuberantly when they cleared up on the quiz yet again.

They compared timetables, and started to wait for one another after lectures so that they could walk back together. They began shopping together every Saturday after Jaime showed her another of his shortcuts into town, and they slowly developed a regular itinerary of shops which they would visit, if only to browse – a bookshop, a sports shop, another bookshop, a little place which sold replica medieval weaponry. Occasionally he would buy something completely frivolous and she would scold him. She would refuse to spend money and he would tease her. She lived for it all.

He showed her his room in Tully Hall. As promised, it was considerably larger than hers, with its own en suite, and he had a TV of his own, which in student terms pretty much made him Azor Ahai, but he never invited anyone in except her. When they weren’t at the bar quiz or at rugby practice, their evening routine was usually to eat together in the Tully cafeteria (since Jaime refused to cook, and her own meagre kitchen, shared with seven other students whose ideas about hygiene left a great deal to be desired, wasn’t much of a draw). Then they would generally repair to their respective rooms or to the library to do a few hours’ work, before ending up flopped beside one another on Jaime’s bed, watching late-night trash TV and talking over it about languages, or rugby, or their childhoods, or whatever events happened to be dominating the world or campus news at the time.

He never spoke of his fiancée. Brienne imagined that the pain of being separated from her was too great for him, and so she never asked, blocking out the sensation of gnawing relief which his silence on the subject offered her. It wasn’t that she _didn’t want_ to know. Or perhaps it was. She lived in the moment. Jaime was here. Nothing else mattered.

People began asking her where he was, if she arrived somewhere alone. One Saturday when she had a paper due and couldn’t spare the time to go into town with him, he came back complaining that the man in the sword shop had enquired after Brienne.

‘I think he thinks we’re _dating,_ ’ he grumbled.

Brienne laughed.

It was one night towards the end of term, when they had won the bar quiz – again – and had rather over-enthusiastically partaken of the prize of free drinks all night, that the conversation in his room somehow turned around to their love lives. Brienne fumblingly confessed that she was a virgin. Jaime smiled and said he didn’t think it was anything to be ashamed of, probably the opposite in this day and age. Drunk, Brienne laughed. Again.

There was a pause, and then Jaime stood and went to his desk, digging something out from the bottom of a drawer. Wordlessly, he passed it to her with a slightly expectant, hopeful look on his face. It was a photograph of a stunningly beautiful young woman, with long, wavy golden hair, a perfect figure, and exquisite features which were not dissimilar to Jaime’s own, except that where his eyes were warm and laughing, the green eyes of the girl in the photo looked hard and a little cold, even as she smiled into the camera against the sunlit background.

Brienne couldn’t stop staring.

‘Is this… is this your fiancée?’ she said at last, when the silence seemed to have stretched on for too long.

He nodded, almost shyly. ‘Yep. That’s Cersei.’

‘She’s beautiful,’ whispered Brienne.

‘Thanks. Yes, I think so too.’

His voice had taken on that soft, dreamy quality, and the beginnings of a goofy smile were twitching at the corners of his mouth, and Brienne suddenly couldn’t bear to look at him. She looked at the photo again instead, and struggled to find something to say which wouldn’t provoke an answer she somehow didn’t want to hear.

‘Um… Cersei what?’ she asked.

There was another, surprisingly long, pause, and she looked up to see Jaime watching her appraisingly, chewing his lip in anxiety.

Finally, in a strange tone, he said, ‘Lannister.’

Brienne blinked, attempting to click her muddied brain into gear. ‘Oh! But – that’s _your_ – how – _ohhh!’_ It hit her like a ten-tonne truck. ‘You’re married already? Like, secretly?’

Jaime’s lips twitched momentarily before his face grew serious once again. ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘I wish, though. But no. Actually, um – we’re related. She’s my cousin.’ He swallowed and watched Brienne carefully.

‘You mean… like a distant cousin or something?’

‘No. We’re first cousins. Her dad is my father’s brother, my Uncle Kevan.’ There was another long pause while they simply stared at one another. Blood was pounding in her ears.

‘But… isn’t that… um…’ She couldn’t bring herself to say the word ‘incestuous’. She gulped. ‘Isn’t that _illegal?’_ she managed to squeak eventually.

‘In most of Westeros, yes. Not in Dorne. We’re legally allowed to marry there. That’s why she quit her course at KLU and stayed over there, and why I’m moving there as soon as I graduate. As soon as we’re married, as long as we stay on Dornish soil, they can’t touch us. Technically, here, I could go to prison. We’ve been _together_ since we were fifteen, not that it was ever anything less than a hundred per cent consensual, you need to understand that. But that’s, um, that’s why I don’t, y’know, talk about it.’

‘Why are you telling _me_ , Jaime?’ she breathed, appalled and terrified for him in equal measure.

He looked at her sharply. ‘I trust you.’

Brienne suddenly felt very sober. She looked back at the photo. The family resemblance was glaring, now that she knew to look for it.

‘She looks like you,’ she said.

He took the photo from her hand, smiling at it. ‘Yeah, I know. People always used to mistake us for twins when we were kids. I’ve known her all my life. She’s just a couple of months older than me, and our families were close, so we grew up together. Every weekend, every holiday. She was just always _there._ ’ He smiled again. ‘There’s never been anyone else for me. Never will be. I can’t imagine life without her. If they separated us – and make no mistake, our fathers would bring down the wrath of all seven hells if they knew – I don’t know what I’d do.’ He gave the photo one last fond glance, then sighed, rose, and replaced it in the drawer, hidden under a pile of papers. Finally, he turned to Brienne. ‘You’re not angry with me, are you?’

She shook her head, unable to define what exactly it was that she was feeling, but it wasn’t anger. Not at Jaime, at least. That was unimaginable.

‘So, um,’ she swallowed thickly, ‘you’re planning to get married straight after graduation?’

‘Yep. Got the date and a septon all lined up.’ He grinned. ‘I’d invite you, Prop Forward, but it’s got to be kind of a secret ceremony, so no guests, I’m afraid. Addam and Bronn and the others don’t know about this. They just know I’ve got a girlfriend in Dorne, though I think they suspect there’s something a bit unorthodox about it. Once we’ve said the words I’ll sleep easier, that’s for sure.’

‘Will you tell your family then?’

‘Not sure yet. Maybe. It depends how much my father annoys me in the meantime. I might get disinherited. Not ruling it out though.’

‘But what about when you come home for visits and stuff? I mean, they’ll find out then, won’t they?’

He looked at her a little sadly. ‘We won’t be coming home for visits. I told you, I can’t leave Dorne. I’d be there now if I didn’t have to finish this damned degree.’

He was leaving. He would leave. He would leave her. He would be elsewhere right now if he were able. With someone else. Someone for whom he would risk condemnation, imprisonment, banishment, disinheritance. Someone without whom he could not imagine his life. Someone who wasn’t her. He could imagine his life without her. He had already planned it. He was leaving, and she would never see him again, and he would barely notice because he was with the person who mattered.

Brienne looked away, confused by the hot, empty feeling inside her because it wasn’t as though this was a _surprise,_ as such. He’d told her he was engaged. He’d told her he was moving to Dorne. She just hadn’t realised it would be quite so… permanent. She stood abruptly, feeling too large and awkward, and pretended to have pins and needles in her leg to hide the beginnings of tears in her eyes.

Jaime watched her again with some concern. ‘Say something, Prop Forward. Look, I don’t blame you if you disapprove, but I really kind of hoped that we were good enough friends that you could, I dunno, get past it? I don’t… tell people. Not _people._ Do you understand what I’m saying?’

‘No, what are you saying?’ she mumbled.

‘I’m saying that your opinion matters. If you disapprove, okay, that’s your prerogative, but I guess I thought – I _hoped_ – that you might not hate _me,_ personally, whatever you think of my personal situation. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.’

‘You haven’t, Jaime.’

He stood up and took a step towards her, reaching out to steady her arm where she was still hopping from foot to foot. She did her best not to flinch.

‘Brienne. Please say you don’t hate me. I – I really don’t want that.’

‘I don’t hate you,’ she managed at last. ‘I don’t disapprove. I’m not going to tell anyone. It’s okay.’

‘Why are you acting weird then?’

She cleared her throat. ‘I’m not. I’m just imagining how much more peaceful it’s going to be around here next year, that’s all. And thinking I might have to save up for my own TV.’

He blinked, then his face relaxed into his trademark cocky smirk.

‘Aww, you can always come and visit me, Prop Forward, if your life’s going to be _that_ boring without me,’ he said. ‘I mean, I can see how that would be the case. There’s no-one like me, after all. Only me. Right?’

*********************************

Oberyn, when Brienne finally met him, early on her third morning in Sunspear, could not have been more stereotypically Dornish if he had been a character in a vaguely racist sitcom from thirty years previously. He had olive skin, the facial hair of a much older man, and a yellow shirt unbuttoned even lower than Jaime had taken to wearing his since his move south.

He raised Brienne’s knuckles to his lips when they were introduced, holding her gaze with smouldering eyes, and called her ‘lovely lady’, before turning to Jaime, still watching her, and murmuring something low in Dornish, clearly unaware that Brienne could speak the language. There was a slang word in there which she didn’t understand, but from the context and morphology she mentally translated it as ‘foursome’.

She felt herself blush and affected sudden interest in a tapestry wall-hanging, but not before seeing Jaime scowl. He growled something into Oberyn’s ear which definitely contained a few Dornish swear words, but Oberyn merely laughed, a deep, rich sound, and said in the common tongue, ‘Well, if you change your mind.’ He winked, more at Jaime than at her, then bowed to her, laughed again, and went about his business of collecting some clean clothes and other items from his apartment, whistling as he did so.

Jaime’s scowl never wavered as he watched him leave the kitchen.

‘Sorry about that,’ he muttered. ‘He’s a’ –

‘Yes, I know,’ she interrupted, smiling. ‘You said.’ Jaime was so committed to his marriage vows that it must be hard for him at times, she reflected, living in a place where sexual freedom was widely regarded as the norm, even if he did have Dornish liberality to thank for being allowed to live with the woman he loved. ‘Your sense of chivalry must get you into a lot of trouble down here,’ she said shyly.

‘More trouble than _this_ , you mean?’ he asked, half-wiggling his stiffened fingers with a grimace as he continued making the coffee.

Her face fell. ‘Oh gods, Jaime, I didn’t mean’ -

‘Oh, relax, Prop Forward,’ he said with a grin. ‘I’ve told you a million times, I don’t blame you. I was drunk and I acted like an idiot. Those guys were just itching for a fight. I’ve no-one to blame but myself.’

‘Still…’

‘No,’ he said sternly, turning from the counter to face her. ‘I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Don’t fucking start with this again. It happened, and I’m dealing with the consequences, largely thanks to you pulling me up by my bootstraps and convincing me that it wasn’t the end of the universe. Something like it would probably have happened to me sooner or later, whatever the situation, because I’m an ass who’s perfectly capable of fucking up by myself. It’s the getting over it part that I couldn’t handle alone. So for you to _blame_ yourself, when the reality is the _complete fucking opposite_ , is just’ –

‘What are you two conspiring about?’ asked Cersei, breezing into the room like a goddess from a painting, her golden hair damp from the shower.

‘Nothing,’ said Jaime, turning back to the coffee machine. ‘Just Oberyn, being his usual slimy self. He hit on Brienne.’

Cersei laughed, a long peal of wholehearted amusement which fell hard as diamonds to the floor. ‘Oh _honestly,_ Jaime. I hardly think so. Anyway, I thought we could all go to the beach today.’

Jaime looked up sharply. ‘Which beach?’

She held his gaze with a wry smile twitching around her beautiful mouth. ‘You _know_ which beach, sweetling,’ she said in a teasing tone.

Jaime’s eyes darted swiftly to Brienne with what looked like mild panic. ‘Ah, Cers, I don’t really think, um…’ he began.

‘Nonsense,’ said Cersei in the same tone. ‘You like the beach, right, Brienne?’

Brienne nodded, a little confused. ‘Of course I do. That would be, um, nice. I think I know which case my bathing suit is packed in. Oh – I might need to buy some sunscreen though.’

Inexplicably, this seemed to amuse Cersei more than ever.

‘Um, Brienne,’ said Jaime tentatively. ‘The beach Cersei’s talking about is one which we like to go to sometimes where, um… people don’t, um…’

‘What my husband is _trying_ to tell you is that it’s a nudist beach,’ interrupted Cersei, her voice suddenly crude and harsh-sounding.

‘But it’s not _obligatory_ ,’ added Jaime hurriedly. ‘To – to – y’know. Lots of people do keep their costumes on. If you don’t feel… comfortable. O-or we could just… not go. You’re our guest. You should choose.’

Cersei scoffed loudly. ‘Oh _gods_ , Jaime, stop being such a big whiny baby. I’ve never heard you complain about it before. And Brienne’s a woman of the world. Right, Brienne? She’s played rugby on a men’s team, for fuck’s sake! Are you telling me she’s going to get an attack of the vapours if she sees a cock or two?’

‘I’m just saying, maybe we could go somewhere else,’ said Jaime gently.

‘But _I want_ to go there. We always go there. It might be the last chance we get this year, if you get the job at Starfall, which you’d damn well better do, by the way.’

‘Cersei’ – he began in an exasperated tone.

Brienne stood. ‘It’s fine. Really. I’d like to go. Cersei’s right, Jaime, I’m not going to be shocked. Thanks, but there’s no need to be over-sensitive on my behalf. As long as no-one minds if I don’t strip off myself, I’m perfectly fine with it.’

What she had not prepared herself for was the sight of Jaime’s naked body. She had caught sight of him shirtless in the changing rooms at Riverrun once or twice, but had always averted her eyes and retired swiftly to the separate cubicle which he always made sure was reserved for her, where she had banished the sight from her mind. Now, however, tanned more golden than ever by the Dornish sun, and with a slight shift in muscle structure caused by the change of activity from rugby to swimming, he was a dazzling sight, and try as she might, she was unable to prevent her eyes from travelling lower and lower to where they had no right to look, greedily taking in every glorious inch of his perfection, on this one opportunity that they would ever have. She hated it even as it thrilled her, and she forced her gaze away, telling herself insistently that one man’s body was much like any other, and concentrated on wriggling discreetly into her blue one-piece.

When she turned back, Cersei was beside her, spreading herself on a towel, naked, golden and curvaceous. She and Jaime had matching lion tattoos on their right buttocks. Her breasts were firm, perfect globes, and she was fully waxed.

Brienne tugged self-consciously at the hem of her costume, sure that some of her profuse blonde pubic hair must be escaping at the edges. It was then that she noticed Jaime looking at her, eyes hidden once again behind his sunglasses, an expression akin to horror clouding the visible section of his face. She fiddled with her suit some more. Jaime coughed, turned his back, bent swiftly to grab his swimming trunks again, and shimmed them hurriedly back on.

‘Going for a swim,’ he barked, and set off down the beach at a trot.

‘The water might be cold!’ called Cersei in a bemused tone.

‘Yep!’ he shouted back, without looking over his shoulder.

He was in the ocean for a very long time, and rather than make conversation with a naked Cersei, Brienne got out a textbook which she was supposed to have finished reading before the start of term. In the awkwardness of the discussion about the nudist beach, she had forgotten to buy sunscreen, and she could feel her skin burning, but Cersei didn’t seem to have any which she could borrow, so she decided to simply put up with it. The wind on the beach tempered the heat of the sun just enough. When she saw Jaime finally walking slowly back up the beach, she turned over onto her stomach, closed the book and her eyes, resisting the overwhelming temptation to sneak another quick glance when she heard the unmistakable sound of wet trunks being shucked off once more, and soon she was asleep.

When she awoke, the top of her back and the entire backs of her legs from buttocks to ankles were red raw with sunburn and she could barely sit. Jaime waited with her in the emergency department of a local hospital that night, while a Summer Isles doctor prodded her unsympathetically and muttered about ‘stupid Westerosi’ before finally writing her a prescription for a burns cream. Cersei remained in the car.

********************************

The away match against Harrenhal Tech was always going to be ugly.

It took place at the very end of the season, in late April, right after an early spring break that year, and was widely regarded by the Riverrun team as a grudge match because the Brave Companions - as the team from Harrenhal styled themselves, in an effort to promote their image as tough players and all-round hard men – had beaten them the previous year by a single try in the final minute of the game.

On the pitch, the mood was aggressive. The Brave Companions made no secret of their dislike of the team from what they clearly saw as an elitist establishment, shouting insults at various players throughout the match. Jaime, with his cut-glass accent and outwardly arrogant demeanour, was a particular target of hatred for them, in what was obviously a feud which had been running for some years. The captain of the other team, an evil-looking Qohorik man, made several rough tackles against him, and Brienne’s attempts to appeal to the referee seemed to fall on deaf ears as the man displayed his obvious bias.

Brienne herself was a source of derision for the opponents, all of whom seemed to take every opportunity to knee her in the breasts or to attempt to pull down her shorts in the scrum, accompanied by lewd shouts. She did what she did best and ignored it, focussing hard on the game instead. By this stage of the season, the Riverrun team were playing like a well-oiled machine under Jaime’s leadership, often aided by her behind-the-scenes input as they discussed tactics together in lengthy post-mortems of every game and amended practice strategies accordingly. The Brave Companions could sense the game slipping away from them, which only served to fuel their aggression, and by the time the final whistle blew, with even the partisan referee unable to do anything but award a hard-won but decisive victory to Riverrun, the anger in the air was palpable.

Bronn and one or two of the others were in favour of heading straight home, keen to avoid a confrontation, but Jaime was insistent that tradition demanded they stay for at least one drink, lest they be seen to be snubbing the losing team – an act sure to exacerbate the ill-feeling between the two clubs. One drink turned into several, and by the time Brienne had realised that the Qohorik captain and his friends were spiking Jaime’s beers with strong spirits, it was too late to stop the horror unfolding.

He had staggered away in the direction of the toilets for the third or fourth time, with her watching his progress with anxious eyes and hoping that he might throw up this time and get the poison out of his system. When she turned around, a group of men from the Harrenhal team and their hangers-on had surrounded her, blocking her exit into the rest of the bar.

‘So,’ sneered one of them. ‘It’s Pretty Boy’s beard. All alone at last, eh?’

‘Leave me alone, please,’ said Brienne, drawing herself up to her full height.

‘Hahaha, not a chance, sweetling,’ cackled another man, one who had tried to pull down her shorts earlier. ‘I’ve been waiting all afternoon to get my ‘ands on you.’

‘What you gonna do with it when you do?’ said another. ‘It ain’t got no tits. Probably hasn’t got a cunt, neither.’

‘Well, Pretty Boy’s putting his cock _somewhere_ , isn’t he?’ said the first man. ‘Anyway, even if we can’t fuck you, sweetling, we can still beat you up. Make that face of yours look even worse, if that’s possible. See’ – he leered close into her face – ‘me and my mates don’t like getting beaten by a stupid great fucking cow of a woman. Stupid great cows of women don’t belong on a fucking rugby field. Do you get what I’m saying? Do you?’

Brienne’s jaw tightened. ‘Do you seriously think I couldn’t take you on? You saw me play. I’m stronger than any of you.’

‘Ooh-hoo, fighting talk!’ exclaimed the man. ‘She’s a feisty one, in’t she? Pretty Boy must like it rough. Is that right, eh, sweetling? Do you hit him in bed? Maybe fuck him with a strap-on? Bet he likes that, eh?’ He grabbed her arm. ‘Come on, show us how you do it.’

 _‘Stop it,’_ hissed Brienne. She shook off his hand and tried to push through the group but they closed ranks swiftly.

‘Oh no, you ain’t getting away that easy,’ growled the second man, shoving her back into the corner.

‘Let me _go,_ ’ she protested.

‘What the _fuck_ is going on here?!!’ she heard a voice shout _._ The men turned, as one. Jaime was standing just inches behind them, his face blazing with a black fury, the like of which she had never seen before. ‘Leave her _the fuck_ ALONE!!’ he yelled.

The men jeered and whooped. ‘Wooooh! He’s come to claim his man-bride! Here’ – he grabbed Jaime and tried to pull him into the centre of their group, next to Brienne – ‘how about you two give us a little floor-show? Just to get us all in the mood. Then we’ll decide which one of you to fuck and which one to pulverise.’

‘You are all getting fucking sent down for this, you do know that, you assholes?’ snarled Jaime, sounding much more sober than he had earlier. ‘You’re in a room full of witnesses. Now fuck off and _leave her alone!_ Don’t make me tell you again.’

‘Or _what?_ You’re on _our_ turf, in case you hadn’t noticed. We’ll destroy your whole fucking team and then say you started it. But first of all we’re going to ram that fucking silver spoon in your mouth so far down your fucking throat it’ll come out your arse. Then we’re gonna hold you down so you can watch while we do whatever we want to your big ugly bitch here. Got it? And _then’_ – but he got no further because Jaime’s hand had shot out and punched him squarely in the face.

‘Jaime, don’t!’ cried Brienne.

The man staggered back to an upright position, clutching his bloody nose. ‘Oh, you are gonna pay for that, Pretty Boy,’ he growled. ‘Get him, lads!’

And then Jaime was curled on the floor, trying desperately to protect his face with his hands as all four of them set upon him, and she was pulling them off him but couldn’t manage them all at once, and the last thing she saw before the blue lights flashed outside was the ringleader repeatedly stamping down on Jaime’s right hand with all of his considerable weight and force, while one of the others held Jaime’s arm down so that he couldn’t get away, his screams echoing and echoing in her ears.

****************************

Jaime got the job at Starfall. It came with free accommodation at the university, but only for a single person, so he decided to live there from Monday to Friday during term-time, and return to Sunspear for the weekends and holidays, at least for the remainder of that year, because Cersei was under contract at the Sunspear Tourism Office as a guide.

Brienne travelled to Salt Shore to begin her study placement, and soon found that the pace of life in the small fishing port suited her, but she was lonely. Jaime was away, working long hours, and with no phones in the basic rooms at either location, she was unable to contact him. She occasionally phoned the apartment in Sunspear at the weekend, making sure to have concocted some linguistic question on which she needed his assistance before she did so. She wasn’t sure why she did this, but it seemed wrong to simply call the home of a married man just to chat to him, and instinct told her that Cersei wouldn’t like it, even if Jaime always seemed more than happy to engage in conversation. If she called when Cersei was out, he was chattier. Very, very occasionally, she took a train up there and met them both for an evening out. It always felt tense and awkward, and after a while she simply stopped calling.

She had the shock of her life, therefore, one Sunday not long after she had returned from spending Winterfest on Tarth with her father and was having some trouble readjusting to Dornish temperatures, when she answered a knock at her door to find Jaime standing there. He looked tired and dishevelled, with red eyes and a couple of days’ beard growth, and the look of desolation on his face made her heart lurch.

‘Hey, Prop Forward,’ he said with a weary smile. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Y-yes, of course,’ she stammered, wildly casting an eye around her tiny room to check it was respectable, though she had no idea what she might wish to hide from him.

He smiled again and she stepped aside to let him in. He didn’t look around at all, but simply flopped on the bed, and had it not been for the cool tiled floor and the warm breeze wafting through the open window with its aroma of salt water and fish, and the Dornish music playing from an adjacent room, she could have believed them back in Tully Hall, the past two years nothing but a bad dream.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked, rather redundantly, after a longish pause.

He looked at her briefly and then away again, scrubbing his good hand repeatedly over his bristly chin.

‘Nope,’ he said. ‘Not at all.’

‘Wh- what happened? Are you ill?’ She tried to still the panic rising inside her.

He barked a short laugh. ‘No. That would be preferable.’ There was the briefest of pauses, then he choked out, ‘Cersei slept with Oberyn.’

And then his face crumpled and he was howling, _howling,_ rocking on her bed and cradling his hand as if it were being shattered all over again. Brienne, on auto-pilot, flew to his side and had her hand on his shoulder before she knew what she was doing, murmuring his name, but even as her arms instinctively started to reach to wrap around him, to draw his sobbing form into her lap and protect him from all pain as she had failed to do the last time, she stopped. Because the emotion in her heart wasn’t sympathy, or friendly concern. It was anger, and sheer, exultant _joy._

The dark box was open, it was _open_ , and the weeds were circling and choking her, and she had no idea how to tame this monster whose existence she had never suspected. Jaime was somehow gripping her hand now, still weeping, and all she wanted in this whole cursed universe was to scream at him and then never to let go, to pull him from there and run as fast as they could go until they were miles from everything and everyone.

‘Jaime,’ she said again, and she had no idea whether it was a plea or an accusation or a curse or a declaration.

She was sweating and breathless. But he composed himself a little and finally extricated his fingers from hers, where she had been gripping them too tightly and stickily, and wiped his tears from his eyes.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘Fuck. Sorry. You didn’t need to see that.’

‘It’s okay,’ she murmured. Some kind of trite remark about that being what friends were for seemed appropriate, but she couldn’t utter it. Instead, she swallowed thickly and said, ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

He drew in a shaky breath and said drily, ‘I guess “No” would be a pretty stupid response to that, wouldn’t it? Or why else am I here?’

Her heart pounded hard at his rhetorical question.

‘Y-you don’t have to, Jaime. I mean, if you don’t want to. It’s okay. I – I’m here, either way.’

‘Thanks,’ he said with a wan smile, and shuffled away from her slightly. She fought for some kind of mental scythe with which to cut the thick tendril of weed which had wrapped itself around her throat.

Jaime sighed again. ‘I suppose it’s my fault. I’ve been away so much, you know? She got lonely. That’s what she said. She got _lonely._ ’ His voice grew bitter. ‘Like I don’t get lonely. I waited for her for a fucking year in Riverrun. She badgered me to get this fucking job, and I’m on my own all week, every week, and I’ve never so much as looked at another woman, you know? And believe me, I’ve had chances. Plenty of them. I could have cheated on her a hundred times over, to be perfectly frank, but I haven’t and I wouldn’t and I never will. But Oberyn _fucking_ Martell bats his bedroom eyes at her one time too many and she fucking _betrays_ me…’ He broke off, choking back more tears.

There was a long silence. The weeds. Oh gods, the weeds. He had never looked. He never would.

‘What are you going to do?’ Brienne asked in a whisper.

He stared at his fingers for a long time. ‘Forgive her, I suppose,’ he said eventually. ‘What else is there? She says she’s sorry. Threw herself at my feet, begged me, pleaded with me, told me it was a mistake and it’ll never happen again. Quit her job and said she’ll move to Starfall with me until the end of the year. After that, I might be able to get a job at Sunspear University. A colleague of mine is going to put in a good word for me with a professor he knows there, see if he can set something up. I know she worries about money and it gets to her sometimes. We’ll get counselling, get ourselves well away from that asshole. We can start over. These things happen to couples. If you love each other, you can get through it. And I know I love her. Nothing else matters.’ He sniffed and looked at her desk, which was littered with papers and an ancient cassette recorder. 'What are you working on?'

The weeds, the weeds. Push them back down, push them back into the box and slam the lid down again.

'What? Oh, just one of the pieces of work which I have to send back to Riverrrun.'

'Which one?'

'Spoken word. I've recorded this old fisherman, but I'm having some trouble understanding him, to be honest.'

Jaime grinned. 'Wow, you managed to find a genuine Salty Dornishman? I'm jealous, Prop Forward. Do you want a hand with it?'

Push down the weeds. Down, down.

'Would you?'

'Sure. I'll listen, you transcribe?'

Slam down the lid. Without sunlight, they would die.

So she did.

At spring break, Renly came to visit her, and she had never been gladder to see anybody in her entire life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: Cersei is a bitch, and Brienne is too nice for her own good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the slight hiatus. School vacations are great, but not so great for writing fic.
> 
> Not sure whether this chapter is angst or black humour, in places.

She tries to focus on the happy memories. She does. There are plenty of them. A lifetime, really. How many people can say that they’ve shared what she’s had with Jaime? Closeness and trust, caring for each other, distance and time mostly an irrelevant detail.

She should cherish those memories. So she tries. Soon, after all, they will be all she has left.

Sometimes, however, the times which hurt are so much more vivid.

************************************

She first met Cersei at the end of the summer term.

The fallout from Jaime’s beating had been as rapid as it was brutal. His face and head had escaped with only cuts and bruises, but every bone in his hand was broken. There was tendon damage, nerve damage. Amputation was discussed. Brienne sat white as a sheet in the hospital waiting room, nauseous with fear and guilt, returning day after day despite the fact that they wouldn’t let her see him. When a kindly nurse finally took pity on her and ushered her into Jaime’s room, insisting it must be only for a minute, Jaime peered up through heavily sedated eyes, focussed on her blonde hair and whispered, ‘Cersei?’ in such a hopeful tone that Brienne could only shake her head tearfully and murmur, ‘I’m sorry,’ before he closed his eyes and drifted off again.

His father arrived, a terrifying presence in a black suit, who barked orders at doctors and had the nurses scurrying around like frightened mice. A surgeon came from King’s Landing; another was flown in from Meereen, with experience in conflict injuries. Jaime was moved to an exclusive private facility on the far outskirts of town, inaccessible except by car. Having no desire to answer questions from Jaime’s father regarding her role in his life or the incident – the police interview had been harrowing enough – Brienne was more than happy to beat a hasty retreat, reassured that at least Jaime would be getting the best treatment.

When he finally reappeared on campus, it was as a shadow of his former self, his hand entirely encased in an ungainly white paw of plaster and strapped to his chest like one half of a straightjacket. The cuts on his face had almost entirely healed, but the bags under his eyes were a deep purple, in between lank, unwashed hair and a mess of unshaven jaw. He was accompanied at all times by either a male nurse, no doubt hired by his father to assist with personal care, a harried-looking member of university staff to carry his books, or, occasionally, a shady figure in a dark suit whom she supposed must be a bodyguard or some other employee of his father’s, appointed to prevent any further harm from befalling his son. Brienne’s blood boiled. It should have been her performing that task. Or any of them. All of them.

The rugby season had ended, in extremely subdued fashion, and they were now well into May, with the end of year exams – and Jaime’s finals – fast approaching. Brienne was finding it difficult to concentrate or sleep and had started to suffer from migraines, wracked as she was with worry, and the guilt, the guilt pressing down on her, crushing her head and her chest like a lead weight. She waited and waited for the knock on her door. It never came.

It was the day before her exams were due to start, almost six weeks into the term, when she literally almost tripped over him. He was sunk deep into an armchair in the language department’s lobby, for once mercifully alone, looking as though he planned to die there, and she almost fell over his extended leg as she rounded a corner on her way from the departmental library.

‘Jaime!’ she gasped, and froze in her tracks, with no idea what to say next.

He raised his head slowly and a flicker of something crossed his face.

‘Prop Forward,’ he breathed. ‘Where in the hells have you been?’

She felt her mouth opening and closing. ‘I – um – revising,’ she blurted. There was a pause. His eyes were dull but there was something searching in them. ‘H-how are you?’ she stammered at last, feeling unutterably foolish for the question.

‘I’ve been better,’ he said, with a glimmer of a bitter smirk.

Her eyes locked onto the plaster cast, huge and awkward as a club, a shield over his heart.

‘Is – is it, um – w-what do the doctors say?’

There was another pause. ‘Well, apparently, after an insane number of surgeries and extensive physiotherapy,’ he intoned grimly, ‘I may _eventually_ regain anywhere between ten and seventy per cent mobility in it. Opinion is divided. On one matter, however, every single doctor from the highest to the lowest is unanimous. A professional rugby career is now out of the question. So you might say I’m fucked. Of course my father is overjoyed. Thinks I’m going to join the family firm now. He’s got a lackey on my tail who’s been briefed to offer me ever-increasing sweeteners to win me over. But they can all go fuck themselves. I’m still going to Dorne. I have to. Only now I don’t need to wait until I’ve finished my stupid fucking exams to do it.’ He looked up at her accusingly. ‘Where _were_ you?’ he asked again. ‘Why didn’t you come to see me?’

A parade of possible excuses flitted through her brain. The hospital, his father, her exams, her supervisor reprimanding her – to her humiliation - for worrying too much about Jaime at the expense of her own work. All of them true. But the truest one spilled agonisingly from her lips before she could stop it. ‘I – I couldn’t, Jaime. How could I? It was my fault.’

‘What was?’ he said, uncomprehending.

‘The fight. Your hand. It was because of _me._ I – I didn’t think you’d want to see me.’

He gaped. ‘Don’t be fucking _idiotic.’_

‘I’m not,’ she choked, unable to check the rising tears now. ‘You came to my defence. That’s the only reason you got hurt.’

‘And what the fuck was I supposed to do? Let them… do whatever they were going to do to you? How in the hells is it your fault?’

‘I could have defended myself. It’s not like I’m some tiny woman who’d have been overpowered. I took them down on the rugby pitch, I could have taken them down in the bar. I was just trying to get out of there before it escalated, but I left it too late. Nothing would have happened to you if it hadn’t been for me.’

‘Not the fucking point, Brienne,’ said Jaime angrily, rising to his feet. ‘My job as the team captain, as your friend, and yes, as a man, was to look out for you in that situation.’

‘It wasn’t your problem, Jaime.’

‘Of course it bloody was!’ he almost shouted. ‘We’re a team. And they had it in for us – the entire team, but you and me especially – the whole day. You know that. If you seriously think that I could have stood idly by while they’ – he broke off, shaking his head. ‘Look, let’s not talk about it anymore,’ he growled, slumping back into the chair. ‘It doesn’t matter now anyway. I’ll be out of here soon enough and you can be rid of me.’

‘Wh- what do you mean, “out of here”?’ she breathed in sudden terror. _‘What are you doing in the department, Jaime?’_

He glanced up again. ‘I’m here to see Professor Selmy,’ he said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘I’m quitting. Dropping out. With any luck, this time next week I’ll be on a plane to Sunspear.’

‘No!’ It was out of her mouth before she could prevent it. ‘I – I mean – _why?’_

‘Why not?’ he said bitterly. ‘I only ever agreed to finish the course because it was my father’s condition for allowing me to take up the rugby contract in Dorne without penalising me financially. He thought I was going come back after I’d retired from professional sport and join the company then, which I never intended to do, of course, but I was waiting for the right moment to enlighten him as to that fact. Now, there’s no point. No rugby, so no ransom hanging over me. That’s the only good thing to come out of this whole mess. I mean, like I said, I’m fucked. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Rugby was the only thing I was good at.’

‘That’s utter rubbish!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re brilliant, Jaime. I’ve seen your work, I’ve heard you speak. You’d be a fool to throw that away, especially _now¸_ with the finish line in sight.’

‘Come on,’ he scoffed. ‘You know as well as I do that there’s no way I’ll get a decent mark now, even if I wanted to.’

‘I know you won’t if you don’t even _try!’_ she said crossly. ‘Surely you can get some kind of special dispensation or help from the university?’

Jaime scoffed. ‘They offered me leave of absence. Which means taking a year out and doing my finals this time next year instead. I can’t wait that long.’

‘But you can’t just _drop out!’_ she insisted. ‘There must be something else they can do to help you. Students with disabilities take exams all the time, so’ –

‘Oh, so now it’s a _disability?’_

‘Well, yes, it is, if you can’t write,’ she protested. ‘You said you wouldn’t regain full mobility. So what happens if you can’t write next year either?’

‘Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, Brienne,’ he sneered.

‘I’m just trying to be practical,’ she huffed. ‘I – I hope it gets better, Jaime, of course I do, but you have to think about what you’re going to do if it doesn’t. Surely you need your degree more than ever now? It doesn’t matter if you don’t get first class honours, you can still try your best. I’ll help any way I can.’

‘First class honours,’ he repeated contemptuously. ‘That’s a fucking joke. I’ve never done a stitch of work in my life, Brienne. Never had to, because I’m Tywin Lannister’s son, raised to have everything handed to me on a plate, so no-one cared how I did at school. It just so happened that I excelled at rugby, which was my ticket out of here. I need that ticket, not some pissy fucking _job._ So excuse me if I don’t give a fuck, okay? I’m getting on that plane and nobody’s going to stop me.’

In the end, someone did. Three days later, he appeared at her door, more haggard than ever, and clutching a sheaf of notes and books awkwardly under his left arm.

Her heart leapt at the sight of him. He smiled a glimmer of a sheepish smile.

‘Fancy helping me revise?’ he asked.

‘What? I don’t understand. I thought you were leaving, Jaime!’

‘Yeah, well,’ he said, his mouth a grim line. ‘My father had other ideas. My accounts are frozen. He did some digging around into why I was still so keen to go to Dorne now that there’s no rugby contract. Of course my uncle knows Cersei’s there. They haven’t quite figured the whole thing out but they’re suspicious. Anyway, my father called me and said there’ll be no further money unless I finish the course. Said he wouldn’t even pay for my medical treatment. Then he called the dean and probably threw some money at the college, so now I’m permitted to take my exams in controlled isolation, with extended time, using a university-appointed scribe to write down my answers for me. I asked if you could do it. They said no.’

‘You – you asked if _I_ could do it?’ she repeated, unable to prevent herself from smiling.

‘Of course. Who else can I trust? But they said it could leave us both open to charges of plagiarism, because you know the subject matter and because we’re “closely personally acquainted”, as they put it. It seems we know each other too well. Shame. But they said there was nothing they could do to stop you from helping me to study, although it came with a lot of dire warnings about how I mustn’t distract you from your own revision. So, how about it?’

Relief washed over her. ‘Of course, Jaime.’

‘Are you sure? Because I really _don’t_ want to distract you. I’ve fucked up my own life, but I’m damned if I’m going to be responsible for fucking up yours as well.’

‘Your life is _not_ fucked,’ she said firmly. ‘You can do this. I’ll make sure of it. First-year exams don’t count towards the final mark anyway, you know that. And helping you out is the least I can do. I still feel like this is my fault.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Prop Forward, it’s not. How many times?’

She chewed her lip, unconvinced. ‘What about… What about you and – and – Dorne?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘What’s going to happen?’

He looked at her sharply. ‘Nothing, I hope. The wedding’s in July, so it’s touch and go until then, but my father’s just blustering because I tried to drop out, I’m sure of it. He’ll release the funds again as soon as I’ve finished my exams, and then I’ll be off.’ He looked at his plaster cast and his voice dropped. ‘I wish she was here though. She hasn’t come to see me.’

‘Well… she can’t, can she?’

‘I guess not,’ he sighed. ‘I’m just… worried, that’s all.’

‘About what?’

‘That she won’t want me anymore,’ he whispered. ‘Like _this._ What if it never gets better, like you said? There’s going to be a lot of scarring, from all the surgeries, and I might never move it properly again. What if it’s just like some… grotesque lump? What if she’s disgusted by it?’

‘Well, um,’ gulped Brienne, floundering as to how to reassure him, while dumbfounded at the notion of anyone being disgusted by him in any way. ‘If – if she loves you, she won’t be. Will she? Surely?’

He smiled thinly. ‘It must be nice not to have to worry about the way you look,’ he murmured, half to himself. A knife went through her. He looked up. ‘Oh gods, sorry, Prop Forward, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just’ –

‘It’s fine, Jaime,’ she snapped. ‘And it’s just your hand, you know? It could have been so much worse. Now come on, let’s get on with some work.’

*********************************

The second visit. Cersei, eight months pregnant and with a face like thunder. Jaime’s long-suffering face beside her, lighting into a delighted beam as Brienne walked out into the airport.

She had graduated that summer, and was now working for a small non-profit in King’s Landing, as she had planned. Her fifteen-month relationship with Renly had ended with his tearful and humiliating confession just a month or so earlier. Brienne had spent a week hiding from the world, embarrassed and sorry for herself, before realising that her dominant emotion was relief, that she simply longed to get his friendship back without the complication of their tentative sexual relationship. When she told him, he hugged her hard and called her his best friend, his joy palpable. She felt less alone and empty now than she had ever done with him as her boyfriend – a fact which she told herself must mean that she had subconsciously known all along, but the truth was that doubts about his sexuality had never crossed her mind for a second. The truth was that she was as detached as he.

Without conscious purpose, she called Jaime and announced her intention to visit.

It was almost Winterfest, cool enough in Dorne for misty mornings and a light jacket in the evenings, but the torture of the midday sun not significantly diminished. Cersei was clearly uncomfortable and extremely bad-tempered, and Brienne felt too large in their new, compact apartment. She knocked down the shower rail the first time she attempted to shower in the tiny bathroom, clattered around the old-fashioned kitchen, and took to setting her travel alarm clock to six a.m. so that she could ensure that she had folded away the sofa bed and tidied the lounge where she was sleeping, before Cersei and Jaime rose. Erasing herself as much as she was able.

Jaime was in placatory and protective mode, refusing to let Cersei out of the apartment alone, following her around and jumping at her commands like a dog. He got into in a raging argument with one of the neighbours in their block when Cersei claimed that the man had taken their parking space. He dutifully and silently mended the shower rail despite Brienne’s protests that she should do it. His hand seemed somewhat improved. He was studying for a doctorate, as a requirement of his continued employment at the university, and spent hours holed up in a box-sized room which he used as an office. Cersei preferred to nap while he worked, which left Brienne with way too much time on her own, so she explored the labyrinthine backstreets of Sunspear, hot, tired and lonely, taking in the sights and sounds and smells of the bazaars, walking the Winding Walls and joining guided tours of the Sandship and the Old Palace. It wasn’t exactly the trip she had planned.

On the Saturday morning, she was sitting at the kitchen table with Jaime, chatting about something insignificant, when Cersei waddled into the kitchen, somehow still looking as beautiful as ever, and announced that she needed to go to the market.

Jaime looked up with weary eyes. ‘I can’t today. I have to study.’

‘But it’s the _weekend,’_ argued Cersei, cocking a hip as much as her large bump would allow. ‘You can’t study _all_ _the time_. You’re _always_ busy.’

‘Yeah, and you know why. My interim research presentation is in _two weeks_. If I don’t get approval to continue, they’ll withdraw my funding, probably my job too, and then what are we supposed to do?’

‘You could stay at home and look after the baby, while I work!’ she snapped. ‘You’re the _girl_ around here, after all.’

Jaime shot Brienne an embarrassed glance. ‘For fuck’s sake, talk some sense. Your job is casual, seasonal labour. You don’t even know for sure whether they’ll need you again next year. But as long as I complete my doctorate, I’m on track for permanent tenure. Thank the gods. We’ve talked about this, Cers.’

‘Maybe I could get a better job if I wasn’t stuck here, barefoot and pregnant, playing little Wifey to you!’ yelled Cersei, hands on hips, her voice rising to a shrill pitch.

Jaime rose and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Cersei. Don’t do this. Not now. Please.’

‘Why not? Is your _pet_ going to be offended?!’ she shouted, gesturing wildly towards Brienne.

Brienne jumped. Never once had Cersei said anything so directly cruel to her. She dropped her head and stared intently into her coffee cup.

‘For the love of the Seven,’ Jaime sighed. ‘Maybe you should go back to bed, love, huh? Do you feel okay? Should I call the doctor?’

‘No, I do _not_ need to go back to bed! I _need_ to go to the market! Now! And I can’t go on my _own!_ I can’t _carry stuff!’_

‘Well, um, how about later?’ tried Jaime in a pleading tone. ‘Just let me get a couple of hours’ work done – three, tops – and then we can go? Okay?’

Cersei huffed petulantly and glared at him. Brienne swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

‘Um – I could go with you. If you want.’

Two golden heads spun around, Jaime’s eyes wide.

 _‘You?!’_ sneered Cersei.

Brienne forced a smile. ‘Sure. It’s no trouble. I don’t have anything planned for today.’

‘Are you – sure?’ asked Jaime slowly.

‘Absolutely. It’s the least I can do, as a guest in your home. And I’d… like to see the market. Really.’ She had seen the market already.

‘Oh. Well then,’ said Jaime, sounding relieved. ‘I mean… if that’s…?’ He turned warily to Cersei.

Cersei looked from one to the other and then flung up her hands exasperatedly. _‘Fine._ Let’s go then, _Brienne.’_

This was only the second time she had ever been alone with Cersei, and the noisy, malodorous bustle of the market felt as claustrophobic as the interior of the tiny car. The exterior portion was mostly populated by traders selling live rabbits and chickens, many of which were running around terrified and quite unrestrained, under the feet of shoppers. Inside, under the glass dome covering, the building was quite superfluously heated, rendering the blended smell of sweaty bodies, tobacco, fish, and exotic, rotting vegetables almost overpowering.

Mercifully, Cersei spoke mostly in monosyllables, occasionally breaking her silence to impart an interesting fact about the history of the building or the local produce, her tour guide training seemingly too well ingrained for her to quite shake it off, even in this awkward situation. Brienne responded with polite noises of interest and was glad to get inside, where the solid wall of chatter and the shouts of the stallholders echoing off the glass dome made conversation impossible. She contented herself with using her large frame to power through the crowds in response to Cersei’s pointed directions, clearing a path for her small, heavily pregnant companion, startling people out of the way with muttered and inaudible apologies.

She was just apologising to a man whose toe she had inadvertently stepped on when she became aware that Cersei was no longer directly behind her. Searching the crowd for her a little frantically, she spied her golden head at a stall, apparently engaged in an altercation with a leathery woman who was holding up a chicken by its legs and waving it, somewhat menacingly, in Cersei’s direction. Brienne pushed her way through the throng and arrived at Cersei’s side just as she and the stallholder were shouting angrily at each other, their words incomprehensible amid the din and the woman’s thick accent.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Brienne anxiously.

To her intense surprise, Cersei turned and gripped her arm. ‘She says it’s dead, but I swear to the Seven I saw it twitching,’ she hissed, wild-eyed. ‘I don’t know why she can’t just chop its damned head off like a civilised human being. These people are so superstitious. She says it’s bad for the baby! Nobody fucking tells me what is and isn’t good for my baby.’ She placed her other hand over her stomach, hyperventilating slightly, and her face turned a shade of greenish white as the heat and appalling stench of the place overwhelmed her. ‘Oh gods, I think I’m going to faint,’ she gasped.

Brienne felt white-hot panic grip her. Cersei had Jaime’s baby inside her, and she was about to collapse in the middle of a crowded marketplace. If she did, then Brienne would have to get her to a hospital. She was too far along for that not to be an option. Brienne had no idea where the hospital was. She had no way of contacting Jaime. She had never driven their car. Jaime had entrusted his wife and unborn child to her, and she could not let him down.

Seizing Cersei forcefully by the arm, she shook her slightly and looked down into her eyes, so like and yet so unlike Jaime’s.

‘No, you’re not,’ she said firmly. ‘Come with me.’ And she half frogmarched, half pulled Cersei in the direction of the nearest exit, all but pushing her out of the door into the comparative freshness of the warm daylight. ‘Now take deep breaths,’ she instructed, not letting go of her. Cersei looked up dubiously but complied. After a second or two the colour started to return to her face. ‘Let’s find you somewhere to sit,’ went on Brienne in the same businesslike manner, and guided her to a nearby low wall. ‘Put your head between your legs and keep breathing. Are you in any pain?’

Cersei shook her head and did as Brienne instructed, spreading her knees wide to enable herself to bed over the mound of her stomach.

‘Are you sure? There’s no pain? Nothing… you know… weird happening?’ Brienne asked, feeling profoundly uncomfortable.

‘I’m fine,’ said Cersei tersely after a few moments. Brienne waited for a word of thanks which never came. Cersei gave a deep sigh. ‘Gods, I hate this fucking place. It’s such a stinking dump. I wish we could just move to King’s Landing or somewhere where we could actually have a _life._ You’re so _lucky_.’

The concept of Cersei – golden, beautiful and married to Jaime – considering _her_ lucky was so ridiculous that Brienne was unable to produce anything more than a strangled noise. Cersei looked up at her with her usual smirk back in place.

‘I mean to say, obviously, in most respects, I pity you. Looking like that, beavering away at your little charity job, getting dumped by your gay boyfriend and all, and who knows if you’ll ever get another one? I doubt it, honestly. Whereas I’ve got Jaime. And I know he loves me.’ She smirked up again with a glint in her eye, and her voice grew cold. ‘But at least you don’t have to live in a smelly, flea-ridden backwater, ostracised by your entire family, and put up with a husband whose ambition seems limited to a lifetime of tweed jackets and academic twaddle. Well, not literal tweed jackets, because it’s too hot here, but you get my point. So, make the most of it, _Prop Forward._ ’ She spoke Jaime’s nickname for her with bitter sarcasm. ‘You should be enjoying your life in the big city, not wasting your time coming down here to see _us._ Do you understand what I’m saying to you?’

A little confused by this strange mixture of cruelty and apparent jealousy, Brienne gave a silent nod.

Cersei smirked again and lumbered to her feet, shaking off Brienne’s helping hand. ‘Good,’ she said in a self-satisfied tone. ‘Let’s not mention this to Jaime, all right? No point in worrying him unduly, is there?’

*****************************************

He appeared at her door again late one night, a week before the end of term. Exams were over and the campus was quiet by day, many students having already left for the summer, and a little wild by night, with no exam stress to dampen the party spirit. Brienne planned to stay for the summer and try to find work, her prospects there slightly better than back home on Tarth. Jaime’s impending departure was something she tried to block from her mind.

He was looking better, washed and shaven now, and his most recent surgery had replaced his unwieldy cast with something less intimidating, revealing the tips of his fingers and thumb in almost a normal way, although the broken fingers were still held rigid. He also now had a regular sling from which he could remove his hand when needed, although most tasks were still impossible for him. But his eyes were a little glassy from painkillers and he was prone to mood swings, which Brienne mostly tried to ride out without becoming too frustrated with him.

Tonight, his air was manic. He barged into the room, grinning, the second she opened the door and all but swung her around with his left hand.

‘She’s coming!’ he exclaimed excitedly.

‘What? Who is?’ she asked in confusion, looking at the door.

‘Cersei! She’s coming over! I finally talked her into it, fuck knows how, but she’s coming, next week. To see me. I can’t believe it, Brienne! It’s incredible!’

 _‘What?’_ she repeated. ‘Gods, Jaime! Is that… wise?’

‘Wise? Who fucking cares about _wise?_ I’ve spent two months either lying in a fucking hospital bed or moping about this place or dealing with a fuckload of shit from my father and the fucking university and every-fucking-body, and all I wanted was to _see her_ , to know she still loves me, and she _does,_ Brienne! She does. Holy crap.’ He finally paused for breath, panting slightly.

‘Jaime,’ said Brienne carefully, placing a hand gently on his uninjured arm. ‘That’s – that’s great. I’m… happy for you. But, is it really a good idea for her to come up here? I thought… Aren’t you supposed to be getting married in a few weeks’ time anyway? In Dorne? Surely you could wait to see each other until then?’

‘Gods, it’s obvious you’ve never been in love with anyone,’ he said dramatically, throwing himself into her desk chair. ‘Don’t you realise I’ve been going through _agony_ , mental as well as physical?! I _need_ her. Like… like _blood._ You just don’t get it, do you?’

A bleak vision of the forthcoming summer, and of the years ahead at Riverrun, anywhere, devoid of him, flashed through her mind. She pushed it aside.

‘No, I guess not,’ she said softly.

He raised his eyes, still twitchy but looking mildly repentant. ‘Sorry, I’m just excited. Sorry. Anyway, the thing is, I need your help.’

‘What for?’

‘Well, not to put too fine a point on it, we need a place to stay. Cersei and me. Somewhere… discreet. I can’t have her here in my dorm room – all guests have to be signed in, and the whole bloody place is now in my father’s pocket, joy of joys, so that’s a no-go. So, I was wondering…’ He hesitated, biting his lip. ‘That house which you’re sharing next year with Renly and Sansa and, what’s that fat girl’s name again?’

‘Walda. And you shouldn’t call her fat.’

‘Whatever. You said you were gonna be alone there over the summer, right? I’m not misremembering that? Have you got the keys yet?’

‘No, we sign the lease on Monday. Wh-‘ She broke off as she realised what he was asking her. ‘Oh Jaime, I _can’t._ Those are other people’s rooms, which they’re paying for. I can’t just let you and your fiancée go in there and – and’ –

‘Fuck?’ he suggested with a grin. ‘Because we’re gonna.’

‘Jaime, no.’

 _‘Please,_ Prop Forward! _Brienne_. Come _on!_ I’m desperate here. It’ll only be for a week or two, then we’re leaving. Together. _Finally._ That’s partly why she’s coming, to help me with the travel, because I can’t lift luggage and shit. _See,_ that’s the kind of thing people do when they _care_ , Brienne,’ he added in a deep voice, fluttering his eyelashes at her. _‘Pleeeease!’_

Irresistible. Powerless. She would never be able to deny him anything.

‘Well, I _guess_ I could go home for two weeks to see my dad and you could use _my_ room,’ she sighed at last. ‘He’s been badgering me about it. But, I’m going to have to tell Renly. The girls have left already, but he’s the co-signatory and I don’t feel comfortable lying to him about it. He’s trustworthy, I promise,’ she assured him when he began to protest.

‘Okay, okay,’ said Jaime agitatedly, getting up and pacing the room. ‘If you’re sure. Thank you. You’re a lifesaver!’

‘I think you’re exaggerating,’ she smiled. ‘But okay. Meet us there on Monday at four. Let me write down the address for you.’

When he came, he was wrapped tightly around the most beautiful girl Brienne had ever seen, more luminous even than in the photo which Jaime had shown her, an eternity ago, as it seemed now. She was similarly entwined around him, carefully avoiding his injured hand, and the two of them were gazing and murmuring at each other right up to the moment they arrived in front of Brienne and a surprised Renly. Jaime hadn’t forewarned her. It was a nightmare made flesh. Renly glanced at her, a look of concern in his eye.

‘Hi,’ said Jaime in a smug voice. ‘Everyone – this is Cersei. Sweetling, this is Renly Baratheon.’

‘Um, pleased to meet you,’ said Renly, offering his hand.

‘How do you do?’ drawled Cersei in an accent similar to Jaime’s, but lacking its charm.

‘And this is Brienne Tarth. I told you about her.’

Cersei looked Brienne slowly up and down and her mouth spread into a lazy smile.

‘Hello,’ said Brienne awkwardly.

The smile on the golden woman’s face continued to expand until it finally resolved into a giggle, which she buried into Jaime’s shoulder, tightening her grip around his waist.

‘Oh, _sweetling!’_ she crooned delightedly. ‘To think you seriously had me worried for a while there.’ She held out her hand to Brienne. ‘It’s a _pleasure_ to finally meet you, Brienne. I mean that most sincerely.’ And she giggled again.

Within a week, Tywin Lannister and his brother had tracked the couple down. Jaime was decent enough to keep Brienne and Renly’s names out of the affair, lying and telling his father that he had secured the accommodation directly from the university, which Tywin never saw fit to question. Amid the tears, tirades and threats, Jaime mailed the keys back to her on Tarth with a short letter of apology in a barely legible left-handed scrawl.

That night, under cover of darkness, he and Cersei secretly boarded a Dornish passenger ship, where the sea captain married them in a hastily arranged ceremony, and with one stroke of his omnipotent pen, Tywin cut them off permanently without a copper star.

It would be more than a year before Brienne left for her study placement in Dorne, and saw Jaime again.

 

 


End file.
